


girls

by ymorton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 45,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6091090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nick and harry, if they were girls</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> finally finished with my first big bang! thanks to everyone who offered kind words on tumblr and a special thank you to the lovely [popstar-vs-radio1](popstar-vs-radio1.tumblr.com) who offered her wonderful talents to create beautiful fanart for this fic. thank you friend. 
> 
> i am so ! glad !! this is done !!! 
> 
> all mistakes are mine and i probably don't care 
> 
> [ART](http://ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com/post/139839219165/so-so-lucky-to-have-incredible-fanart-from-the) // [MIX](8tracks.com/ymort/girls) // [TUMBLR POST](http://ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com/post/139839364050/title-girls-author-ymorton-artist)

"Now, see here," Nick's mum says, flipping the page, and Harry crowds in as close as she can, heart clenching. It only took two hours of Christmas at Nick's house to convince Eileen to get the photo albums out. Nick's left the room in protest, but Harry's got priorities, and seeing Nicola Grimshaw's entire childhood through grainy photos is the top one on her list at the minute.

"Oh my _god_ ," she says. "Oh my god, that's amazing."

"In't she sweet?" Eileen laughs.

It's all Nick, on this page, photo after photo. As a chubby curly-haired toddler, grinning with a missing tooth in front. Still-chubby and spotty and with a truly awful fringe, dressed in a denim jacket and cargo shorts. In her footy uniform, hair tugged up in a ponytail, looking bored. One sock's slipping down to her ankle.

"That's the day she was born," Eileen says, pointing to the left, and Harry squints at it. Nick's tiny in Eileen's arms, with a puff of dark hair on top of her head, her face bright red and her eyes squished shut.

"God," Harry says, voice thick. "She's so little."

"Didn't feel little coming out, let me tell you-"

"Ew, mum, don't be disgusting," Nick says, wandering into the room with a handful of M&Ms, glasses on, dark hair up in a messy bun. Harry puts her hand out for one, and Nick gives it to her, slides onto the sofa next to her. She's warm, smells nice. Harry leans into her a little, sticks her face against Nick's neck to inhale.

"Are you humiliating me, mum?" Nick asks, breath hot on Harry's cheek, smelling of chocolate and tea. "Oh _god_ , that haircut! That's child abuse."

"You looked _sweet_ ," Eileen says. "Like a little doll."

"Chucky, maybe."

Harry snorts. "Who's Chucky?"

"Ugh, you're an infant," Nick says in despair. "Don't tell me you're too old for Chucky-"

"Wait, s'that like the doll that kills people?"

"Yesss, Styles. There we go."

Eileen turns the page. "And here's when she played hockey. Weren't so good at that, were you, Nicky."

"Have I ever been good at any sport?" Nick asks, sighing. "Just fancied a girl on the team. She had the _nicest_ bum. Used to run behind her when we did laps so I could get a-"

"Nick," Eileen says long-sufferingly.

"What?"

"Be appropriate."

"Oh my god!" Nick whines. "I am so appropriate, mum. That was completely PG-rated."

"She's not very appropriate," Harry stage-whispers to Eileen, and Nick pinches the pudge on her hip until Harry yelps, batting her hand away.

"Shut your mouth, Harry Styles. Pot bloody kettle."

Harry laughs, bubbly in her throat, and flips the page over.

\---

Eileen goes off to make tea after a while, and Nick falls asleep stretched out on the sofa, legs in Harry's lap. Harry balances the photo album on Nick's knobby ankles, keeps flipping. A lot of it isn't even Nick. There were so many years before Nick came along, so many photos of just her brother and sister and mum and dad, smiling happily on family holidays. And then - bam. A screaming red-faced baby out of nowhere. Weird.

Nick digs her face into the pillow, sighing, and Harry looks over at her. She's quite glad Nick was born. She might've only met Nick three months ago but it already feels a bit like she's known her for ages. Years. Harry sighs, reaches out to gently pluck the glasses from Nick's face.

Nick hums sleepily.

Harry sets the glasses down, strokes Nick's calves with her hand for a while, over prickly unshaven skin and her fleecy soft pyjama bottoms. Nick doesn't wake up.

"Harry?" she hears, and she jerks her eyes away from Nick's face to see Jane in the doorway, smiling kindly.

"Hi!"

"Hi, love, good to see you. Glad you could come up, Nick's been wanging on about it for ages."

"Good to see you too," Harry says, sliding her hand off Nick's ankle.

"Nick. Niiick. Nicola!" Jane calls, loudly, until Nick stirs, mouth pursing. "I'm home, if you care-"

"Don't care," Nick mutters. "Shh."

"Love you too, sis." Jane snorts. "How've you been, Harry?"

"Good, really good," Harry says, softly, because Nick's fallen back asleep.

Jane rolls her eyes fondly at them both. "Think we're eating in a half hour or so. Wake her up at some point, will you?"

Harry nods, and Jane turns away.

\---

Harry heads to Holmes Chapel after dinner, gets in at four and immediately gets put on kitchen duty. Gemma gets to _nap_ , cos she stayed up all night to finish her exams, and Harry has to mash potatoes by hand. Truly unfair.

"Nick says sweet potatoes have got more fiber," Harry says, sticking a knife into the boiled chunks of potatoes and putting them into a bowl. "And they're good, I tried 'em now. There's a difference between yams and sweet potatoes, did you know? Nick and I did a comparison last weekend, yams are like a bit bigger and-"

"Nick says this, Nick did that," Anne murmurs. Harry tries not to go red. It's just the steam from the potatoes, not - anything else. Nope.

"I didn't- I'm just saying. It was relevant."

"I know, love," Anne says, sounding like she's smiling. "Glad you've found a good friend down in London. God knows you'll need them, the way everything's going."

"What's that mean? I've got friends. I've got Ed, and the band-"

"I know. But Nick's a good girl. Solid. Really taken you under her wing these past few months, like. It's good to have people like that, keep your head a proper size."

Harry pulls a face, and Anne laughs, reaches over to ruffle her hair.

"You have fun over at hers today, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry says. "Her mum showed me all these, like, baby photos. Was so cute. And Nick's sister came by and we had this really good chicken for lunch, and, yeah." She trails off shyly.

Anne nods slowly, watching her.

"Well, I'm glad you went," she says. "It was very kind of Nick to have you."

Harry bites her lip, shoving the masher into the potatoes. "Yeah."

"Love," Anne says, quietly. "Are you and Nick, uh."

"What?" Harry says sharply. Christ, she's sweating. She shakes her hair back from her face.

"I'm just asking," Anne says. "If you and Nick are - are just friends, or more than that. If you're- seeing her, Harry."

Harry's stomach flops. She can't look at her, because Anne'll see something on her face. Harry's not sure what, exactly. "We're just friends, mum."

"Because you know that'd be alright. And you know you could tell me. Right?"  

"We're just _friends_ ," Harry snaps.

"Alright."

"Jesus, mum, you sound like the Daily Mail. Just cos Nick fancies girls doesn't mean that we're- we're. You know. That's such, like, a stereotype or whatever. An assumption."

"I know that, Harriet. I'm not asking just because Nick's - that way."

"I'm just, like. I'm so sick of everyone thinking we're doing that. When we're not."

The potatoes are mashed to a paste by now, and Harry's arm is starting to hurt.

"Alright, I'm sorry."

Harry bites her lip, feeling suddenly like she might cry. She swallows it down, scrubs her wrist over her eyes.

"Harry," Anne says gently.

"Don't," Harry says, sticking the masher into the potatoes until it stands up on its own. "I'll go get Gemma for tea."

"I didn't mean to upset you, sweetheart-"

"You didn't." Harry forces a smile. "I promise."

Anne nods slowly. "Alright, then. Go on and get your sister."

\---

"God, don't you look incredible," Nick says warmly, leaning in to kiss Harry's cheek, and Harry tries not to go red. It's only been a few weeks since Christmas, but she's barely seen Nick, and she forgot how much she fancies a compliment off her.

"Thanks," she says, wiping a bit of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. "You look nice too."

"Oh shut up, I look stupid. People should really be more specific about dress codes so I don't embarrass myself."

"You look good," Harry repeats, doing some sort of weird poke-squeeze of Nick's forearm to underline her point. Nick gives her a bemused look, but she doesn't take the piss.

Nick's in a short navy dress with a black blazer, all shiny bare legs and dark lipstick and straightened hair like a sexy businesswoman. Harry feels immature and girly in comparison, in her floaty Armani dress, and she definitely goes red when Nick looks her up and down, sipping contemplatively at her drink.

"Cleans up well, doesn't she?" Nick says, looking over at Ben, who's scrolling through his Blackberry and not paying attention.

"She certainly does," Ben says distractedly. He looks up and grins, kisses Nick's cheek. "How are you, Nicola?"

"Very well, Benjamin. How's things?"

"Good, good. Keeping our Haz in line, full-time job, y'know. She also seems to have moved in for a while, so Mer and I have our hands full "

"Ugh, what a task. You've been filming a bit, haven't you? Should I brace myself for a new 1D video? Any spoilers?" 

"Not telling you, radio harpy, it'll be all over London in a half second."

Nick flicks him off, laughing.

"The video's gonna be sick," Harry says, scratching at her gelled updo until Nick pulls her hand away, laughing.

"You'll ruin Lou's handiwork, Haz, stop it. You need to look gorgeous and stay very still."

Harry sighs. "Can we fetch a drink or what?"

"Go do photos or whatever, Haz. Ben and I would, but we're not very famous, are we, Winston. No one wants to see our old wrinkly mugs."

"Hey, speak for yourself," Ben says, laughing. Nick rolls her eyes and grabs his arm.

"Let's get a drink. Maybe I'll fetch you one too, Harriet. If you're lucky. Only seventeen for a few more weeks, aren't you."

"Vodka-soda, please!" Harry calls, just as Caroline starts beckoning to her, with that I’m-not-paid-enough-to-babysit look in her eyes. She gets that look a lot around Harry.  

"Harry!" she calls. "Rest of the band's out on the red carpet already, please come join them, love!"

Harry teeters her way over to Caroline, giggles when Caroline immediately sticks her hands down Harry's dress to adjust her tits in the top.

"Harry," Caroline says, sighing long-sufferingly. "Don't squirm around, my darling."

"Tickles!"

"I know. There you go. Wait, shit, your nipples."

Harry looks down and pushes them down ineffectively with her palms. "You tickled me, Watson, it's not my fault."

"I thank God every day you're not a boy," Caroline says, snorting. "Be trying to figure out how to fit your hard-on in your jeans every bloody time-"

"Heyy," Harry says. "You basically gave my nipples a handjob, you can't blame them for getting hard."

"You're disgusting," Caroline laughs. "Go out there, love. Wait, lemme see you. Ah. Gorgeous. Smile big."

Harry smiles dutifully, and Caroline sighs, fondly this time.

"Go on, then. Have fun."

Harry does have a bit of fun. Red carpets are weird, and surreal, but she knows she looks good in her dress, and the rest of the band's there to make her laugh. Louise keeps murmuring stupid things in her ear, and Liam accidentally falls over once, and when Niall leans down to help him up her dress nearly slips off her nearly-flat chest. All pretty much standard, for them. At least people seem to like it.

Harry smiles and pouts and smiles again, and then someone says she can go and she staggers off gratefully, finds Nick at the bar, chatting with Henry.

"You look gorgeous, Styles," Henry says, kissing both her cheeks. "That Armani?"

"Uhh, yeah, yes, it is." Harry flushes, pulls at the top of it, stiff lace under her fingers. She's still never quite sure where she stands with Henry. He’s one of Nick’s best mates, and so is Harry, she hopes, but sometimes he looks at Harry like she’s not to be trusted. "Thank you.”

"Fantastic. Stunning. So anyway, Grims. Lily's thinking of doing the eyewear campaign, and I was hoping you'd-"

"No," Nick says, laughing. "Dunno what you're gonna ask, but-"

"Just t-shirts, Nicola! You love t-shirts! Model a _few_. It'd be fun, we've got Cara on board, I know you two are mates-"

"I won't fill 'em out!" Nick says. "Ask Harry here, she's got the goods."

Harry goes hot, gulps her drink when Nick smirks at her.

"Harry's very famous and important," Henry says. "Best tits in the biz, but unfortunately probably not in my budget-"

"Heyy," Harry says, covering her chest with one arm.

"What about Daisy?"

"Busy that weekend. Palm Springs or summat. C'mon, you're always in town. It'd be like three hours, tops."

"I'm so shit at it though, Hens. No one'll buy 'em. The first HoH line that literally no one purchases, all cos of Nicola Grimshaw's flat-arse chest and weird stomach."

Henry groans. "Darling."

"You haven't got a- a flat chest," Harry says defensively. "You've got a nice chest. And your stomach's not weird."

"Ignore her, Harriet, she somehow has the biggest goddamn ego and the worst self-esteem simultaneously," Henry says, draining his wine. "You're doing it, Nick. Whinge all you like but you're doing it, and you will look _amazing_. Put you in some denim shorts, show off those legs."

"I do have nice legs," Nick says with a sigh.  

"Yeah, you do," Harry agrees, and Nick grins at her.

"Such a flirt, Harry Styles," she says, sticking her tongue out. "You'll give a girl ideas."

Harry rolls her eyes.

"No, no, talk more about my legs. What d'you like about them specifically?"

"Where do I even _begin_ ," Harry says, and Nick laughs appreciatively, eyes glinting. Harry goes warm down the back of her neck and in the pit of her stomach.

"Right, I'm bored with your lezzy chat," Henry says, adjusting his quiff. "See you soon, Grims."

He kisses her and then Harry, on both cheeks again, and slips into the crowd.

Nick waves at someone, and turns back to the bar for another drink.

Harry could run off too, go find her band, but she doesn’t want to. Nick turns back.

“Another drink?” she says, arching an eyebrow. “Won’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, wriggling her way in til she’s pressed against Nick’s shoulder. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Good choice,” Nick murmurs, and Harry turns her head so Nick won’t see her grin like an idiot.

\---

"Grim!" Harry shouts down the hall, shaking her wet hair back from her face. They did a hot yoga class at the studio near Nick’s flat, and Harry was positively dripping with sweat after. At least she made it through, though - Nick left after forty minutes for a wee and Harry found her after class, drinking a giant pink smoothie and chatting up some girl outside. "Can I borrow a pair of knickers?"

"Yeah!" Nick calls back. Harry drops her towel on the ground and pads naked over to Nick's pants drawer. It's all a mess, stockings and knickers and socks and sports bras all wadded up in a big tangle. Of course. Harry fumbles in the back, and her fingers hit something hard, and sort of circular, and - oh, good God.

She yanks it out. God, Nick's such a weirdo, keeping a vibrator in her knickers drawer. It's pale pink and it buzzes in Harry's hand when she twists the base. She snorts, and turns it off.

Harry's got a vibrator, too, a tiny silver one. She actually shared with Niall for a while when they were on tour, until they mutually decided that it was a bit creepy. Plus, Harry always suspected that Niall never washed it when she was finished.

This one's bigger - not as big as a dick, but not just a bullet. Harry rolls it between her fingers. She wonders if Nick uses it just on herself, or if she, like. Puts it inside other girls.

She probably does do that. Inside other girls. Harry's never had a bloke use a vibe on her. She wonders if it'd be better or worse, not knowing where it was gonna go, or how - intense it was gonna be. If - if the person would, like, hold it there even if Harry couldn't bear it.

Harry lets out a slow breath and sticks the vibrator back in the corner. She grabs a pair of black pants, smooth and seamless, and checks to make sure Nick's not coming back before she lifts them to her face and inhales.

There's nothing, of course. Just laundry soap, sweet and clean. She'd have to get a pair out of the hamper if she really wanted to-

_Jesus,_ Styles. She shakes herself. Really wanted to what? Smell Nick? How fucking creepy.

She wriggles into the pants, slips her bra on, and rifles through Nick's closet til she finds the Topshop dress Nick was wearing the other day. It's made of soft grey jersey and it fits perfectly, stretching over Harry's chest. Nick won't mind. Probably won't even notice.

Nick's humming to herself in the kitchen, elbows on the counter as she peers at her phone, arse waggling along to Rihanna.

"Hiya," Harry says, and Nick looks up.

"Hi, popstar," she says, smiling. "Ooh, that looks nice on you."

"Thanks," Harry says, going red for some reason. She pushes past Nick and opens up the liquor cabinet. "Are we making drinks?"

"Yes, please," Nick says absently. "I think I have tonic. And limes. If there's gin we could do that."

There is gin. Harry pulls it out triumphantly, brandishes it in front of Nick's face.

"Yes, Styles," Nick says, tossing her phone aside. "I'll take one. But just one. A tipsy DJ is fine, a really twatted one is notttt cute."

"I want to get twatted," Harry says, decisively, rolling the bottle of gin around on the counter. "I'm bored. And I wanna dance, so it better be a good set."

"Ahh, youthful self-destruction," Nick sighs.

Harry pulls a face at her. "You puked for two hours last weekend, Grimmy. And then fell asleep on the toilet floor."

"Well, do as I say, not as I do," Nick quips, grabbing the gin out of Harry's hand. "Let's get started, then."

\---

Harry stops slurping her drink and strains to hear the first beats of the song, grins wide as she recognizes it. Nick played it for her last week, while they were sitting on Nick's sofa, feet pressed together under a blanket, facing each other. Nick had her laptop balanced on her thighs and one camisole strap slipping down her shoulder and Harry couldn't stop staring at her as Nick babbled on about music. But that’s besides the point. The point is, it’s a tune, and Harry needs to dance.

She throws herself into the crowd, grabs at the first person she sees who she knows, who turns out to be Ian.

"This song is sick!" she screams in his ear, as the floor throbs under their feet. Harry can feel it in her _teeth_.

"Yeaah!" Ian shouts back, as Aimee comes up behind him, sliding an arm around her stomach and sticking her tongue out at Harry. Harry sticks out her tongue back, dances with both of them for a while, getting herself in the middle like a Harry sandwich, right where she likes to be. Center of attention.

She looks up at one point, catches eyes with Nick, who's bent over the decks in the DJ booth, huge headphones hanging off one ear, t-shirt so gossamer-thin Harry can see her black bra, dark and shadowy. Her lips are painted dark red, a small silver necklace banging against her chest, and Harry squeezes Aimee's waist hard, watching Nick move to the beat. Aimee laughs and pushes Harry's hands away, hoop earrings bobbing, and Harry reaches out drunkenly to put a finger through one of them before she turns back to stare at Nick.

Nick smiles at her, soft and secret, and then someone taps her on the shoulder and she turns, already laughing. Her throat is pale and smooth. Harry wants to kiss it. Christ, she's drunk.

Aimee gets Harry's arse against her crotch somehow, leans in to whisper in her ear.

"Be careful with our girl, alright?" she says, breath hot and voice close. "Not as tough as she looks."

"She's perfect," Harry blurts back, because she's drunk and it's true.

Aimee laughs, and pushes Harry away into the pulsating crowd. Harry closes her eyes and goes with it.

Nick finds them in the crowd a half hour later, when Harry's four drinks deep and there's sweat trickling steadily down her back.

“How’re we doing, love?” she says in Harry’s ear, sliding a hand onto her waist, and Harry turns to face her, trying not to grin too stupidly.

“Hiiiiii,” she says. Nick laughs, tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Hiya,” she says, barely audible over the Rihanna track the new DJ is blasting. Nick’s grinning, forehead damp with sweat. It _is_ hot in there. Harry’s hot.

“I’m hottt,” she moans against the shell of Nick’s ear.

"Should we move on?" Nick puts a hand on her back. "Annie's spinning at the Nest."

Harry nods gratefully, reaches down to thread her fingers through Nick's, letting Nick lead her through the crowd. She's not totally sure what the Nest is, but if Nick wants to go there, Harry'll go.

\---

"I'm not that drunk," Nick says loudly, four hours, two clubs, and countless drinks later. She's peering into her refrigerator, wearing one heeled boot and wobbling like a leaf in the wind. "I'm really not."

"Me neither," Harry agrees, perched on Nick's kitchen counter with a packet of salt and vinegar crisps. "I'm fine."

"Like, I wouldn't _drive_ right now, you know, obviously, but I'm definitely not gonna vom."

Harry crunches down on a crisp. "Same."

"It's like the perfect level. I feel amazing. Bloody _hell_ , why the fuck don't I have any _fucking bread_!"

Harry snorts, and Nick slams the refrigerator, winces when something falls inside it. She gingerly opens it up again and looks.

"Eh," she mutters. "S'fine. Fix it later. Gimme my crisps back."

Harry hands them over, and Nick leans against the counter opposite, puts a handful into her mouth and crunches down.

"Blehh," Harry moans, suddenly really wanting to be horizontal. "Want t'go to bed."

"Me too," Nick mumbles around a mouthful of crisps.

"Wait. Want more crisps."

Nick gives the bag back, and starts fumbling around for a water glass.

"Alright, so Aimee told me if you - if you-" she hiccups. "If you drink, like, three glasses of water before you go to bed, you won't be hungover."

Harry wrinkles her nose. "I'm not thirsty. I had so much water after yoga."

"That's not the _point_ , it's about _health_ , Styles."

Harry accepts the glass of water sullenly and takes a sip.

"I'm not gonna be hungover anyway, cos I'm not that drunk," Nick says, waving one hand in the air. "I'm fine."

"Me too."

"Maybe I'll go to the gym tomorrow. Maybe I'll be like proper healthy and go to the gym and have a _juice_."

Harry nods determinedly. Her head feels very, very - floaty.

"That's it," Nick says, gesturing with her glass of water until some slops on the ground. "I'm gonna be really healthy. Honestly, like, I think it's really time to just, like, buckle down, y'know? Start a diet. Specially now that the hols are over-"

She grabs the packet of crisps back from Harry and fumbles her hand into it. "Like it's nearly springtime now, right? It's like, everything's really fresh and-"

Harry shuts her eyes, listening to Nick chewing.

"Ey! Styles! Don't pass out on me."

"M'not," Harry mumbles. "Just tired. You’re being boring."

"You little cow," Nick laughs, one hand coming around Harry's back and tugging her off the counter. Harry stumbles, puts her arms around Nick's shoulders and her head into the crook of her neck. Mmm, that's nice. Nick's all warm and solid. Harry could go to sleep riiiiight here.

"Oh my god, Haz, you're legless," Nick giggles. "C'mon. Bed. Bedtime for you."

Harry nods, and shuts her eyes again for a little while.

She wakes up in bed on her side, peering blearily at the open door of the toilet, golden light filtering out into Nick's dark bedroom.

"Niick?"

Nick pops her head out, a toothbrush in her mouth.

"Is it morning?" Harry whispers.

Nick snorts, and some foam goes down her chin. "No, idiot. You've been in bed about ten minutes. Go back to sleep."

"I wanna brush my teeth," Harry says pitifully.

Nick sighs long-sufferingly, ducks back into the toilet.

Harry closes her eyes again, but she wakes up when she feels Nick's weight dip the bed.

"Here," Nick says, voice warm and low. "Toothbrush. Sit up or you'll choke."

Harry drags herself up til she's sitting. A wave of dizziness washes over her and she groans.

"How 'come you're so good at hiding when you're really really pissed?" Nick asks softly, handing Harry the toothbrush. Harry sticks it in her mouth and leans her head on Nick's shoulder.

"M'not pissed," she garbles out.

"Yeah, alright. Sure. Don't drip on my duvet, please."

It takes two hours for Harry to finish brushing her teeth. Well. Maybe more like a minute, but she can't tell time so good right now. Eventually she's just chewing on the brush, and Nick gently pulls it out of her mouth.

"That's enough, Haz."

Harry wants to spit. There's nowhere to spit, and she wants to spit, and she looks at Nick unhappily, her cheeks bulging out.

"Oh god," Nick sighs, fumbling for the bin. "Here."

Harry spits, and sighs with relief, smiles. Mm, that's better. Her head feels less spinny and her mouth is all nice and refreshed. She collapses down into bed. Nick's soft warm bed. One of Harry's favorite places on the whole planet.

"Go to sleep, drunkie," Nick says, patting her cheek.

"Love you," Harry sighs.

Nick huffs a laugh. "Good night, Harry."

In the back of her mind, Harry feels a niggle of annoyance, that Nick didn't say it back. She falls asleep anyway.

\---

Harry sucks noisily at her drink, until Nick breaks off from her conversation and turns her way.

"Babe," she says, flushed and drunk. She shouldn't be drunk, cos this is apparently a work meeting, and yet there she is. Unprofessional to have a work meeting in a pub to begin with, Harry thinks. She tries not to sigh. Nick said they'd talk business for twenty minutes and then peel off to go to a bar, but it's been a full hour of her sitting there as Nick and Rochelle gossip about people Harry's never even heard of.

"What?" Harry says, slurping her drink again, trying not to glare.

Nick laughs. "Did you want a refill, is that what I'm meant to be getting?"

"I can grab it," Rochelle says, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm out too. What're you drinking, Harry?"

"Uhh," Harry says. "Vodka - something."

"Vodka-soda," Nick says, huffing out a laugh. "Maybe you _shouldn't_ have another, if you can't even remember what you're drinking."

Harry just grimaces around the straw and watches Rochelle walk away, arse full in her tight skirt.

"She's pretty," she says, trying not to make it sound snarky.

Nick laughs again. "She certainly is, Haz. She'll look amazing on telly."

"Is that why we're here?"

Nick gives her a look. "Yeah, Haz. She might be on the panel for Sweat, if I play my cards right."

Harry ponders that, as Nick fiddles to check her phone. She tips an ice cube into her mouth and chews hard. "Do you fancy her?"

"Jesus. What is this, twenty questions? She's straight, Harry. Got a boyfriend who DJs for Capitol."

"You fancied me, and I'm straight," Harry says, the words coming out mush-mouthed. "Doesn't seem to stop you."

Nick narrows her eyes. Doesn't deny it. "Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine tonight."

"I can leave if you want," Harry says, bitterly. Wow, she's quite drunk, and yet she's pretty sure if she stops drinking now she'll only regret it. "If I'm just being a third wheel."

"You're not - what the hell, Harry. I just said she's straight, this isn't a date. What's your problem?"

"Did you really fancy me?" Harry asks in a low voice, digging her fingers into the skin of her thigh, a compulsive clench. Her knee's jiggling. "Before?"

"You were practically a toddler on X Factor, Haz, I'm not actually a pedophile," Nick says stiffly. "No matter what people say. Was joking on the radio."

"What about after we met, last year." Harry's voice keeps cracking. "Did you, did you ever-"

"Here we go!" Rochelle sings, sliding the glass in front of Harry. Harry peers at it dumbly.

Nick coughs, picks up her drink and takes a gulp.

Rochelle sinks back into her seat. "So, Grim. Let's talk business."

"I would _love_ to talk business with you, Ms. Humes," Nick says, grinning wide. Harry feels small and sour in comparison. She gulps her drink and settles back in her seat to sulk.

\---

Nick's still tetchy at the end of the night, but she lets Harry follow her into a cab.

They sit side by side, not talking. Harry feels sick, from all the vodka and from all the - other stuff. She hates when she's awful. She usually isn't, it's just. Nick. Harry doesn't know why she wants so much of Nick, all the time. All her attention.

"Can I come back to yours?" Harry asks, voice small. "Or d'you hate me now?"

Nick chokes out a flat laugh. "Don't be an idiot."

Harry walks her hand across the battered leather seat, puts it over Nick's warm palm. The touch makes her pulse flutter.

"Harry," Nick says. Her hand doesn't move.

"I'm sorry," Harry says, chewing her lip. "I was being a dick."

"It's not-" Nick sighs. "I - I just. Y'know, it's not - I'm not going to stop being your friend if you don't, like-"

She stops.

"I hope you don't think I expect anything from you," she says, voice tight and quiet. "Like. Anything more than just mates."

"Nick-"

"I'm not some kind of -" she breaks off, voice cracking, and looks determinedly out the window. Harry feels _awful_. She nearly gags, she feels so awful.

She squeezes Nick's hand hard. "I don't think that. I swear. I don't. I was just being an idiot."

"I'm friends with a lot of people without fucking them," Nick says, voice small. "I'm not trying to get in your pants."

"I know. I'm not- I'm sorry." Harry watches her. "I'm sorry. I love you, alright, don't be eggy with me."

Nick laughs tiredly, tips her head back against the seat.

"I love you," Harry repeats, and it makes her throat close up, almost. She coughs. "Don't be mad. Promise you're not angry. I'll make you tea. I'll do your laundry."

Nick looks at her, huffing out a chuckle.

"I'm not angry, you idiot."

"Promise?"

"Promise. But you do have to make me tea."

Harry squeezes her hand again, leaves her fingers laced with Nick's til they pull up in front of her flat.

\---

"Nick?" Harry whispers. They've had their tea and gone to bed, but Harry's been lying there for about forty-five minutes, not even close to sleep. Her mind's racing and she doesn't know why. She keeps thinking of what Nick said, in the cab. _Anything more than just mates_.

" _Nick_."

Nick groans. "Yeah, Haz."

"C'n I ask you something?"

Nick doesn't move. Harry peers at her back.

"Ni-ick."

"What?" Nick mutters sleepily.

Harry draws in a slow breath.

"Did you- did you always know about girls?" she says, shakily. "Or did it, um - I mean. Was it, like, later that you, like. You know. Figured it out.

Nick rolls over onto her back. She's not wearing a bra, and Harry can see the curve of her breasts through her Dr. Dre t-shirt. She looks away as quick as she can.

"What?" Nick repeats, eyes scrunched up. "Harry, it's the middle of the night."

"It's barely midnight. You're just a nana."

"Oh- shut up. What's your stupid question, Harriet."

It's harder to say when Nick's looking at her. Harry looks down, tugging at a thread on Nick's duvet.

"Did you always know?" she says. "About, um. Liking girls."

Nick props herself up on her elbow, peers at Harry for a long second.

"Sort of," she says slowly.

"Sort of." Harry huffs a laugh. "Okay."

"Well, I mean- like. I did, I suppose. I fancied girls when I was little but my parents thought it was just, y'know, little kid stuff. Never liked blokes the same way, but I tried it out and everything. Lot easier to fake, isn't it? Than it must be for gay blokes. Just have to lie there and let them, you know. Go at it."

"You had sex with boys?"

"Course I did," Nick says. "In uni."

"And it felt- like, uh. Did it feel good?"

Nick makes a face like she did when Harry offered her a bite of her vegan black bean burger the week before.

"Was always a bit boring, if I'm honest. It never got me off. No offense to dicks, I know you're a big fan."

Harry flushes hard. "Shut up."

"What's brought this on, hm?" Nick says, rolling onto her side. Harry can see the bend of her waist where her shirt's scrunched together and ridden up. She smells like shampoo, a musky note of perfume, and Harry's hit with a low punch of arousal, right in the bottom of her gut. She exhales slowly, carefully.

"Nothing," she says.

"Nothing?"

Harry swallows. Nick is very close to her, and very warm, and Harry can't stop thinking about what it'd feel like to-

"Just curious."

"Curious when I figured out I was gay or, like," she coughs delicately. " _Curious_ curious?"

"Just that," Harry lies. "The first one."

She buries her face in her pillow.

"Okay," Nick says, sounding bemused. "Well, good chat. See you in the morning. Make sure to wake me up with any more questions you have, no matter how pointless."

Harry nods pitifully.

After a moment she feels Nick's hand on her back, rubbing gently.

"G'night, Styles," Nick whispers, and Harry can't say anything back. Her throat's all dry. She just nods again, and Nick rolls away, lets out a sigh.

\---

"Vodka tonic, please!" Harry yells over the din of the crowd. The bartender stares thoughtfully at her tits for a good ten seconds, and then says, "Are you Harry Styles?"

Harry nearly rolls her eyes. She forces a smile instead. "Just a vodka tonic, please."

"My flatmate's got a poster of you in his room. On the ceiling above his bed."

"That's very nice of him," Harry says, trying not to pull a face at the thought of why his flatmate might have chosen that location.

"He's bloody obsessed with you. I always fancied the little one more. The mouthy one with the nice arse. What's her name? Layla? Weren't you two, like, messin' around? God, I'd pay to see that-"

"Can you get a fucking move on?" Harry hears, and she turns to see Aimee, glaring at the bartender. "Jesus, jerk off on your own time, asshat. Get the lady her fucking drink."

"Bitch," the bartender mutters, but he turns away.

"Thanks," Harry says, red-faced, as Aimee settles in next to her, adjusting her skirt.

"No problem. This place is kind of a dive. How're you doing, babe?"

Harry grabs her drink, dropping a tenner on the bartop.

"I'm good," she says, taking a sip and looking around at the crowded room. Nick's at the end of the bar, and there's some girl with bleach-blonde hair and dark eyebrows leaning in to talk to her, putting a drink in Nick's hand. Harry narrows her eyes.

"Who's that?" she says to Aimee, nodding her head down the bar.

"No idea," Aimee sighs. "But Nick always pulls at this bar. I think that's why she always makes us come here. Every girl in here is like exactly Nick's type."

Harry takes a gulp of her drink. "What's Nick's type?"

Aimee looks at her sidelong, and Harry pretends to be very, very interested in the slice of lime in her drink.

"Artsy hipsters with nice tits," Aimee says, breathing out a laugh. "If they're in skinny jeans with questionable tattoos Nick's ready to _pounce_."

"Ha," Harry breathes. She's still watching them. The girl's laughing at something Nick's said, eyes sparkling. Nick stoops down to murmur in her ear, and something hooks hot in Harry's gut.

"I'm just gonna go," she says absently. "Umm, say hi."

"You do that, babe," Aimee says, sounding amused. Harry knows she's taking the mick, but who cares. She takes off towards Nick, slurping her vodka. She'll just say hello.

\---

"You're on the sofa tonight, darling," Nick says, locking the door behind her. Harry followed her into a cab from the bar and came home with her, which is normal. But so did this - girl. Harry spent the whole cab ride back trying and failing to ignore Nick's hand on the girl's thigh, the way they kept laughing soft and low.

"D'you guys wanna watch telly?" Harry asks, fully aware of how pathetic she sounds.

"I'm knackered, Haz, we're gonna go to sleep." Nick smiles and nods at the girl. Lauren. Laura. Whatever. "My room's on the left, meet you in there?"

"Yeah, alright," Lauren/Laura says raspily, grinning at her. Harry tries to keep her face blank, but it falls into a pout once they both turn away and Nick leads her down the hall to the living room.

"Alright," Nick says, pulling a blanket out of a cupboard. "There you go. Got enough pillows?"

"You want a cup of tea?"

Nick huffs a laugh. "No. Can you stop being so weird, please, Hazza?"

She presses a vodka-scented kiss to Harry's cheek, squeezes her around the shoulders and whispers, "I love you very much, but I'm also trying to get laid. So just - go to sleep."

Harry swallows thickly.

"And if you hear anything sus it's your bloody fault for not finishing the stupid renos on your flat before now. Don't give me shit in the morning." Nick laughs and kisses her again, close to her mouth, drunk and messy. Harry trembles, mind racing with last-second possibilities. If she kissed Nick again, square on the lips, would Nick go back down the hallway and tell that other girl to go home? Or would she just laugh?

"Good night, love." Nick turns away, running a hand through her hair and digging in her back pocket for her wallet and keys, dumping them on a table in the hallway. Harry hears the clatter of it, and then the solid thunk of Nick's bedroom door.

She stands there in silence for a long minute, holding her breath, but she can't hear anything.

Nick's sofa is comfortable, long enough for Harry to stretch her legs out, but she still doesn't like it. She lies there for a long time, half-asleep, but she comes awake when the bedroom door creaks open again.

She hears footsteps down the hall, a muttered _Shh_ , and then a light flicks in on the kitchen just as the kitchen door swings shut.

Harry opens her eyes, pulse racing. She can see golden light leaking out from under the door, can hear dishes clinking together.

"D'you have cheese?" a low voice murmurs.

"Off dairy right now, soz," Nick whispers back. "Avocado though? You want an egg? Or, ooh, I've got crisps."

There's the crinkle of a crisp bag, the sound of someone chewing, then silence. Harry can't stop holding her breath, listening so hard she can hear her own heartbeat. God, she feels pathetic, but it's-

Harry hears the soft sound of a kiss and her pulse spikes. Nick murmurs something low, huffs a laugh, and they kiss again, quiet but unmistakeable.

The door opens, light flooding the room for a second, and Harry squeezes her eyes shut.

"Take 'em to bed," Nick's whispering, laughing a little. "I wanna make you come again."

Embarrassed heat washes all the way down Harry's neck. She fights the urge to swallow.

Lauren/Laura chuckles, footsteps tapping back down the hall, and after a minute the bedroom door shuts again, leaving Harry in silence.

She sits up, grabbing for her phone on the coffee table, but who can she text? It's two bloody AM and Harry's so- she's so-

God, she's an idiot. She scrubs her palms over her face, lets out a strangled breath and curls into the sofa again, pulling the blanket up to her neck. It takes forever, but she manages to sleep.

Nick wakes her up with coffee, rubbing her warm hand over Harry's shoulder and putting a mug under her nose.

"Morning, Haz," she whispers, as Harry grumbles, digging her face into the pillow. "Up you get, c'mon, I know you have studio."

Harry rubs her eyes, rolls onto her back. Nick holds out the mug.

"Is that girl here?" she mumbles, and Nick rolls her eyes.

"Laura. Not _that girl_ , don't be a bitch. And no, she had work."

Harry brightens and sits up, taking the mug out of Nick's hands. "Thank you."

"No problem." Nick turns away. Harry gazes absently at her arse for a minute until she remembers herself and looks into her coffee instead.

"Have fun last night?" she asks.

"Mm. Yeah." Nick swallows a gulp of her own coffee, sitting cross-legged on the chair across from her. "I love that bar. It's like gross in a good way. How about you?"

"Yeah," Harry says sullenly. "Loads."

Nick arches an eyebrow at her, but doesn't say anything about it.

"Hey," she says, reaching out a long leg to nudge at Harry's thigh with her toes. "I've got this fashion dinner thing next week, I want you to come."

"Just me?"

Nick rolls her eyes. "Yes, Haz. Just you."

Harry tries to bite down a smile. It must not be very successful, because Nick sighs in a long-suffering sort of way, kneads her toes against Harry's thigh.

"You're such a brat," she says, shaking her head. "It'll be just you, and I won't talk to _anyone_ else, and I'll just give you my undivided attention the whole night."

Harry smiles some more. "You want me to make breakfast?"

Nick groans happily. "Yes, please. Go pull your weight."

Harry wants to lean over and - and - she's not sure. She clenches her fists and pushes herself up from the sofa.

"Set the table?" she calls behind her.

"God, we're domestic," Nick moans. She sounds like she's grinning. Harry is too, so hard her cheeks hurt. "Fiiiine. But I want avocado toast."

\---

Nick follows through on her promise and gives Harry her undivided attention at the fashion dinner thing, which turns out to be terribly boring until they get the brilliant idea of taking advantage of the open bar. Then it's loads of fun, cos Harry's drunk and Nick whispers gossip in her ear until she makes Harry laugh so hard she snorts out vodka-tonic.

They go home together, the two of them. Harry can't stop grinning the entire cab ride, drunk and giddy, running over the night in her head and nodding while Nick natters on about someone's new record that everyone _loves_ and Nick can't _stand_. It's her favorite thing, listening to Nick talk.

She climbs into bed and tugs all of Nick's pillows over to her side, building herself a nest. When it's finished she snuggles in, lets out a long sigh, her ears still ringing. She'll probably be terribly hungover tomorrow, but she's got the whole day off, so. She can just stay in bed. Maybe make Nick go out and fetch brekkie.

Nick clambers onto the bed next to her, long legs bare and her face shiny-clean.

"Stole all my bloody pillows," she grumbles, grabbing one away from Harry's nest. "Gimme."

"Heyyy," Harry whines, but she hands another pillow over, and Nick rewards her with a grin and a clumsy pat on the face.

Finally they're both settled on their sides, eye to eye. Nick's humming tunelessly, digging her head into her pillow, and Harry reaches out and tucks Nick's hair behind her ear.

Nick laughs. "Whassat for?"

"Nothin'," Harry murmurs. "Was on your face."

"You're pissed," Nick says, eyes scrunching as she smiles.

Harry just stares at her. She is quite pissed. Nick smells really good, like _really_ good, and Harry clutches a pillow to her chest.

"Grim," she says slowly.

"Yeaah," Nick mutters, eyes closed.

"What would you," Harry starts, swallowing hard. "What would you, uh, do, if I- if I kissed you?"

Nick's eyes pop open.

"Like right now?" she asks, voice gone high. "Or in general?"

Harry stares at her. "Don't be an idiot."

"How am I-" Nick stops, mouth opening and closing a few times like a startled fish. "M'not being an idiot."

"Was just a question," Harry says, something caught in her throat. She moves to turn over and Nick grabs her shoulder.

"Right now," she says. "I would tell you to go to sleep cos you're pissed, and you'd probably regret it in the morning."

"No I-"

"But in general," Nick says, voice unsteady. "In general. Might kiss back. Dunno."

Harry faces her again, stomach doing a flop like she's stepped wrong off a curb. "You would?"

Nick blinks at her.

"You're _drunk_ ," she says, with a shaky laugh, like it'll all go away in the morning. Like Harry hasn't spent months thinking about it. “You’re just - drunk.”

"You'd kiss me back?"

"Hazza…"  

"Would you?"

Nick licks her bottom lip, eyes darting like she's weighing her options.

"Go to sleep," she says finally.

Harry reaches out and draws her fingers down the side of Nick's face, careful and slow. She watches, fascinated, when Nick shivers, lips parting.

"You'd kiss me back," she says, with satisfaction.

Nick just exhales, all wobbly and hot, her eyes closing. The bottom of Harry's belly floods hot, because she knows what that means. She knows Nick- feels it back. Too. Whatever. She might be drunk but she knows that much.

She ducks her head to press it to Nick's collarbone, and Nick stiffens up for a minute before she relaxes, puts an arm around Harry's back, big hand spreading over Harry's shoulder blades.

"You're gonna kill me," she whispers. "You absolute nutter."

"Gonna _kiss_ you," Harry mumbles, half-asleep, and the last thing she feels is Nick sighing a hot breath against the top of her head.

\---

Harry wakes up to an empty bed and the faint sounds of Nick murdering an Adele song in the kitchen. She lies there for a while, trying to stave off the low throb at the back of her neck, stretching her toes out under Nick’s fluffy duvet, grinning at nothing in particular.

She picks her way barefoot into the kitchen, knocks on the fridge just to make Nick look up, hugging herself in just shorts and one of Nick's worn-out t-shirts.

“Morning.”

“Morning, popstar,” Nick says, flicking a glance down her body, looking back into the pan of eggs she’s stirring. “I’m making breakfast.”

“You can’t cook.”

Nick pulls a face at her, and Harry pushes herself up to sit on Nick’s kitchen counter, legs swinging. Her stomach’s lurching like she’s going to be sick. She’s probably just hungry. Or maybe it’s cos last night she told Nick she wanted to kiss her, and Nick said she’d kiss Harry back, and now they’re just sitting around making eggs like everything’s normal.

Harry knows that everything can stay normal, if she wants it to. She could chalk it up to too much booze and too much time spent together. She probably wouldn’t even have to say anything, just let them fall back into the normal rhythm of their friendship.

Her hands clench on the countertop. No. She bloody wants this, and she knows she wants it. She pushes past the familiar swoop of vertigo at the thought, and says, “Nick?”

“What,” Nick says, voice tense like she’s thinking the exact same thing as Harry. She won’t look up.

“Umm.” Harry scooches over on the counter, kicks at Nick’s hip. “Like. Last night, um-”

“You were drunk,” Nick says, busily stirring the eggs. “No worries-”

“No,” Harry says shakily. “Don’t, like. Listen. I - I meant it.”

Nick chews at her lip.

“I think about it a lot,” Harry says. She’s almost surprised by how weak her voice is, cos she didn’t think she was scared of what she wanted. It’s just - it’s real. If she keeps talking, Nick’s gonna kiss her, and everything’s going to get really bloody real really bloody quickly.

Harry draws in a shaking breath. “Like- you. I think about you a lot.”

Nick sprinkles cheese over the eggs, staring into the pan.

“I think about us kissing,” Harry says unsteadily.

“Haz,” Nick breathes.

“I do. I - I’m sorry.”

Nick looks at her, eyes dark. “Why’re you _sorry_?”

Harry hitches her shoulders up in a miserable shrug. This isn’t going the way she planned. Course, the way she planned was Nick pulling her into a lazy easy snog in bed when she woke up, kissing her awake and whispering _we don’t have to talk about it, it’s okay_ , so that ship’s already sailed.

“I dunno.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Nick says, voice shaky. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know. I know there’s not. I just.” Harry rubs her hands over her eyes. “Like. It’s not just when I’m drunk, or when we’re in bed, or. Or whatever.”

Nick carefully turns the stove off.

“And I feel like you don’t take it seriously,” Harry says. “Cos I’m just, like, me.”

Nick swallows audibly.

"I take you seriously," she mumbles.

Harry tries to breathe. She sniffs in hard.

"I do," Nick says, urgently. She pushes the pan of eggs aside and steps between Harry's legs, and it's so sudden, how close she is, that Harry loses her breath a bit. "I do."

Harry looks at her, at the flat cut of Nick's cheekbones and the spray of freckles over her nose, the mark on one cheek and her dark dark eyes. Her soft pink mouth. She's seen Nick's face up about a million times but it's never felt quite so - close.

"Nick," she says, dumbly, and Nick takes her face very gently in both hands and kisses her.

Harry puffs out a breath, somehow surprised even though she asked for it. Nick's lips are soft and careful, and she cups the back of Harry's head just as she pulls away with a quiet wet sound, licking at the corner of her mouth, looking curious, interested.

Harry's heart is thudding hard in her chest and her hands are clenched tight around the edge of the counter. She can't move, which is weird. Her whole body's screaming for Nick to touch her again and yet she can't bloody move.

Nick lets go and looks at her, up close. "Alright?"

Harry lets out a shivering breath, nods, and Nick's mouth twitches in a smile, crooked and pleased. She slides her hands over Harry's on the countertop and presses down as she leans in again, sucking Harry's bottom lip into her mouth and then licking inside.

Finally Harry's limbs unlock. Nick murmurs when she puts her arms around Nick's narrow shoulders, pulls her in close.

Oh, they waited too long to do this. Harry's an idiot for waiting, and she groans with how much lost time there is to make up. Nick slows her down, laughs against her mouth when Harry staggers off the counter to get closer.

"Hey," she breathes, holding Harry's face in her hands. "Hey, relax."

"Kiss me," Harry says, voice thick and rusty like she hasn't used it for a while.

Nick snorts. "I'm bloody _trying_."

Harry laughs too, and Nick licks the sound right out of her mouth when she leans in again, slow and smiling.

\---

It's the next morning, nearly noon on a Sunday. Harry's full of breakfast and tea and Nick's on top of her on the sofa, kissing her mouth. They've barely stopped since they started, two days ago. Well, except to sleep and eat and go to work. But mostly just kissing. Harry doesn't mind one bit.

Nick's hand slides down from Harry's neck to her shoulder, and then inwards to her chest, and Harry shudders happily.

Nick pulls back.

"S'that alright?" she asks, voice hoarse.

"What?"

"Me- touching. You. Like, y'know, _touching_ touching. Cos we can just kiss if you like. We don't have to do anything you're not-"

"Jesus," Harry interrupts. "Touch my fucking tits, Nick. Please."

Nick stops, slackjawed, and then her eyes narrow. "You sure?"

"I'm not a bloody virgin," Harry says, reaching down for a handful of Nick's arse, her skirt rucked up. Nick lets out a surprised sound, grinds down on Harry's thigh. Harry grins. Nick's got a nice arse. "C'mon."

"Well, I don't- I mean. Some straight girls just want to kiss, I don't-"

Harry presses their mouths together to shut her up. _Straight girls_. Harry doesn't like being called that. She's got no idea what she'd rather be called, but not- that. At least not by Nick, when Nick's tongue is in her mouth.

Nick's hand curves around Harry's breast, still hesitant, and Harry arches her back. Nick grips tight, thumb against Harry's nipple.

Harry breaks off from the kiss, panting. "C'mon, Grim. You're s'posed to be the best at this. Show me a good time."

She grins when Nick huffs indignantly.

"You want a good time?"

Harry laughs, feeling giddy. "I really do."

"Fine," Nick says, cheeks pink. "Brat."

She tucks her hair behind her ear, leans down and kisses Harry's neck, and then further down, fingers unbuttoning Harry's shirt, mouth dragging down the exposed skin.

Harry hums when Nick slips her bra straps off her shoulders, reaches around to unhook the clasp. It takes her a second, and Harry lifts her head.

"Sorry, it's weird," she says. "You have to unhook the top thingy and then do the-"

The clasp pops open.

Nick looks up, grinning. "What can I say, I'm the best."

She tosses the bra aside and opens Harry's unbuttoned shirt like a curtain at the theater, slow and showy. She stays like that for a minute, just staring, until Harry can feel herself flush.

"Ni-ick."

"Gimme a minute." Nick traces her thumb over one of Harry's nipples, stiffening up under the attention. She sighs. "Fuck, look at you, Haz."

Harry goes even redder, feeling a pulse of heat in her stomach at Nick's hot-eyed stare. She shifts her thighs together, pinned down by Nick's weight. She wants to whine, but she keeps her mouth shut.

"Perfect," Nick says, swallowing. "You're just- you're. Shit. Never mind." She ducks her head and sucks at Harry's hard nipple, lets her teeth graze against the skin, so light it makes Harry twitch and suck in a breath.

"Nick-"

Nick moves to the other nipple, then kisses down the swell of Harry's belly, until her hand's flat to the bottom of it, pressing down on the skin in a way that's making Harry's eyes go unfocused. She can feel how wet she is.

"Ni-ick," she mumbles.

"Mmhm," Nick murmurs against Harry's hip, Harry's skirt rucked up around her waist.

"What're you-" Harry quivers at not knowing, what Nick's plans are for her. With boys it's always pretty easy to tell. Hard dick, going in some part of Harry's body. "What're you- gonna do?"

Nick looks up, eyes dark.

"Was hoping I could eat you out," she says, easily, looking hungry. "You alright with that?"

Harry tries not to go tongue-tied. Christ, she's had quite a bit of sex in her life, she shouldn't be so-

"Mm. Haz?" Nick breathes out, ducking down to kiss right below Harry's navel. Harry squirms furiously, bites back a groan when Nick slides her palms up Harry's thighs at the same time, against the grain of hair.

"P-please, yeah," Harry chokes. "Yeah."

"Thank _god_ ," Nick murmurs, before she picks up Harry's ankle, puts it over the back of the sofa, puts her other foot on the ground.

Harry's spread open then, feeling completely exposed, even though she's still got her knickers on. She can feel the wet, nearly soaking through the thin cotton, and then Nick blows cool air against her and Harry _really_ feels it.

"Jesus, Nick-"

Nick does it again, and Harry twitches, one hand clenching around the back of the sofa.

"Nick!"

"You always this jumpy?" Nick murmurs, sounding like she's grinning.

"Get on with it," Harry says, reaching down to shove at Nick's smug face.

Nick ducks, laughing.

"This is the difference between birds and blokes, young Styles," she says, instructively, just as she reaches to run the pad of her thumb over the cotton of Harry's knickers, a slow drag. Harry's stomach flip-flops, and she exhales unsteadily. "Blokes only eat pussy until it's time for the main event. Give you a few licks, like. Maybe get you off once if they're feeling generous."

Harry has the vague sense she should defend mankind, but Nick's running her fingers right under the hem of Harry's knickers, where her thigh meets her cunt, and she can't form a coherent sentence.

"But for girls," Nick says softly. "Well. It _is_ the main event."

" _Jesus_ , Nick, please," Harry babbles. "Please."

"Can I take these off?" Nick asks, tugging at her knickers.

Harry lifts her head to glare at her, her bare chest bouncing.

"No, please don't, I need to retain my dignity," she says, voice heavy with sarcasm.

Nick grins up at her, turns her head to press a soft kiss to the inside of Harry's thigh, and gently tugs her pants down.

And then it's - it's. Harry doesn't talk for a long time. She's quiet at first, trying to bite her lip, but after a while she can't shut herself up. Nick goes so slow, terribly slow. She puts her mouth everywhere. Harry's thighs, her lips. Her clit, finally, a slow push of Nick's tongue while two of her fingers are spreading inside her.

Nick lifts her head after a while, looking up at her and raising her eyebrows questioningly, like Harry's gonna have a single bloody complaint.

"Keep- was close- keep _going_!" Harry gasps, and Nick lowers her head again, laughing.

\---

"You're late," Lou greets her with the next morning, which is bloody rich considering how often she's strolled into rehearsal tardy. Harry flips her off and hugs Niall around the waist from behind, from where she's standing at the counter making tea, yawning into the wrist of her Derby County jumper.

"Morning, team," Harry says cheerily.

"Someone's happy," Niall says, bemused. "You want tea?"

"Yes, please, Nialler."

"Did you get laid or what?" Louise asks, looking a bit sour about it. "You're annoying me."

"Lou," Liam says, long-suffering, looking up from his trainers, which are tangled in a heap in his lap.

"Don't kiss and tell," Harry says primly. "Morning, Leemo."

"Morning, Haz. Can you help me untangle my laces?"

Harry snorts. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Louise says, before Liam can open his mouth. "He got what he deserved. Don't help him."

Harry rolls her eyes, and accepts the cup of tea Niall hands over. "So, are we rehearsing, or what?"

"Or what," Niall says, sinking down onto the sofa next to Louise. "Paul's train broke down or something, so we're waiting."

"We could do vocal warm-ups," Harry says, sipping gingerly at her steaming cup of tea. "Or go over the set-"

"Christ, you sound like Liam," Lou says, ignoring Liam when he whines _heyyy._ "What's got into you? Or should I say who?"

Harry grins a bit. She can't help it. "Nothing. No one."

Lou watches her suspiciously. "You were hanging out with Nick last night, weren't you? I saw your Instagram."

The smile slips off Harry's face. She looks away, sets her tea down and slides in next to Liam to help. "Yeah."

"You're firmly up her arse, aren't you? Cos she's like, sooo cool and hip-"

"Lou, don't be a dick," Liam says, handing over the mess of trainers to Harry.

"Just mad cos I'm not up yours," Harry mutters, not making eye contact. It's mean, but she can't fucking help it. Sometimes Lou makes her mean.

"Oh, you fucking _wish_ ," Louise says, sounding like she's relishing the prospect of a fight. She's dangerous like that, the way she loves to fight, loves to plant traps and pick at people until they snap. Harry used to find it endearing, until Lou turned her sights on Harry. Harry's not sure when or why that started happening, but she doesn't like it. "The pair of you have the biggest fucking egos-"

"Lou," Niall says, desperately. "Can you, umm. Have you- have you got a spare tampon?"

Louise fixes her with a flat look, and Harry snorts a helpless laugh into her elbow. Niall's the absolute worst at avoiding conflict, but at least she tries.

"No," Lou says. "Ask Harry, maybe Nick lent her one."

"Get _off_ it," Harry says tightly, still staring down at Liam's trainers. God, Lou really fucked them up, twisted them round and round in hopeless knots. Poor Liam.

"Can we all just stop fighting," Liam breathes. "Come on."

Louise opens her mouth, eyes flashing, but they're saved by the door swinging open, Paul poking his head in, coffee in one hand.

"G'morning, darlings," he says, grinning when they chorus a weary _Good morning_.

"Fascinating reading on the tube this morning." He holds up a copy of Heat magazine, and Harry squints at her own face, in a circle next to Louise's with a pink heart over it. "Apparently Lou and Harry are about ready to shack up and adopt a few babies. Who knew?"

"Whassat?" Harry asks slowly, reaching for it, and Lou says sharply, "It's bullshit, is what it is."

"Oh, _that's_ why you're all-" Liam starts, and Louise shoots him a look that stops him in his tracks.

Harry scans the paper, brushing off crumbs from whatever Paul's breakfast was. _Harry Styles and Louise Tomlinson, secret lovers_? reads the headline. Harry laughs.

"This is hilarious," she says. "Look, Lou, they photoshopped our faces together."

"Yeah, what a fucking laugh!" Louise chirps. "Such a _laugh_ to have my boyfriend chew me out for an hour last night cos he thinks I'm shagging my bandmate!"

Harry looks back down, swallowing.

"Don't miss the part where they talk about how jealous I am of Nicola Grimshaw," Louis says acidly. "For stealing away my girlfriend. God, it's just _hilarious_."

"It's just tabloid shite, Lou," Niall says carefully.

"It's fucking ridiculous!"

"Aaalright," Paul cuts in, unwinding his scarf from his neck. "Less chat, more warming up. Harry, put the paper away, it's time to work."

"I wasn't even-" Harry stops when Paul gives her a sharp little look. She tosses the Heat aside and hands Liam back his shoes, still a mess. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Liam sighs. "Sort it out later."

He staggers to his feet, offers Harry a hand to pull her up. She takes it and stumbles against his chest, grabbing onto his arm for balance. It's not even on purpose, but the look Lou's giving her over Liam's shoulder makes her feel queasy with guilt anyway.

"Rehearsal," she says dumbly, steadying herself. Lou's looking away now, wrapping an arm around Niall's shoulders and stumbling them both into the other room. Good, maybe she'll bother Niall for the rest of the day. "Alright."

Liam raises an eyebrow. "Uhh, yeah."

Harry pushes her hair out of her face, trying not to look as eggy as she feels.

"Don't mind her," Liam says quietly. "Seriously. Think she fought pretty bad with Eric last night, she's just, like, blowing off steam."

Harry should feel bad, but most of her compassion for Louise has already been used up. She's got a daily quota. "Mm."

"He's an idiot," Liam mutters, more to himself than to her. "Don't know why she's still with him. Seriously, actually believing the two of you are shagging, when you're both straight. It's stupid."

Harry can't look at him. She just hums again, hoping that's enough, and follows Liam into the studio.

\---

"Mm, hand me the wine," Nick mumbles, and Harry fumbles for the bottle, sat on the ledge next to Nick's bathtub. She shakes it.

"S'gone."

"Nooooooo," Nick whines in her ear. "Nooooo-"

Harry reaches back and tips the last drops of wine into Nick's mouth. "There you go."

Nick swallows it happily, settling Harry on her lap as Harry puts the bottle back down. Harry sinks back down, tips her head back against Nick's shoulder and sighs.

"I'm drunk," she says.

Nick laughs, hand sliding onto Harry's belly underwater, stroking back and forth. "Me too."

"What if we drown?"

"We're not gonna drown."

"We could. I read you can drown in one inch of water." Harry giggles. "God, imagine the headlines."

Nick huffs a laugh, warm against Harry's damp neck. "Torrid lesbian love affair gone wrong-"

"Torrid _bisexual_ love affair," Harry corrects, and Nick groans and squeezes her breast, thumbs over her nipple. Harry giggles ticklishly, wriggling in Nick's arms, leans back until Nick takes the hint and kisses her.

"Mmm," Harry hums into her mouth, just as Nick's hand moves off her chest and down her belly, pressing down between her legs. "Mm!"

Nick laughs against Harry's lips, as her fingers spread Harry's pussy, rub against her clit and then down inside her, slippery and slick under the surface, hot water caressing her cunt.

She nips Harry's bottom lip at the same time, licks it gently, and Harry can't keep her fucking eyes open, drunk and warm and shuddering when Nick keeps playing with her. She groans low.

"Ni-ick."

"Mm," Nick hums back, turning Harry's face from hers til Harry's sprawled out on Nick's chest, gasping up at the ceiling. Nick's fingers keep _moving_ , slow and sure, and - and that's her mouth on Harry's neck, sucking. She's so fucking good at this. Harry shivers, tips her head to the side so Nick has easy access.

"Haz," Nick murmurs. "C'n you come like this?"

Harry moans.

"Tell me, love."

Harry tries to focus, but it all goes to shit when Nick tugs at her earlobe with her teeth. She whimpers. "Yeah- yeah, yeah."

"Yeah, you can?"

"Yeah, I- yeah. Think so."

"Tell me what you need," Nick murmurs. She's been doing that lately, asking Harry to say it out loud. Figure out what'll make her come.

"I, um. I - more, like-" Harry reaches down to rub her clit and Nick pulls her wrist away with a splash.

"Uh-uh," she says. "Just me."

"Nick-"

"Tell me what you _need_ ," Nick breathes. "You want me to touch your clit?"

"P-please, yeah," Harry gasps, and Nick does for a while, massages her until Harry's shaking, leg muscles clenching.

"My - chest, like-" she gasps. "Nipples. Please-"

"Like this?" Nick whispers, dragging two fingers over Harry's hard nipple. Harry twists in her arms, whining.

"Yeaaah."

"Or like this," Nick says, low, before she tugs at Harry's nipple, twists, and Harry's hands clench into furious fists.

" _Yes_ , fuck, Nick-"

"Good girl," Nick says, warm and fond, kissing her jaw and then her neck, one hand on Harry's chest and the other between her lips, rubbing her clit in tight little circles, unrelenting pressure. Harry's going to - she can't, like, she can't-

"Oh _fuck_ , Nick, fuck, fuck," she babbles, before her belly clenches and she comes, eyes clenched shut. Her breath sounds loud and shaky in her ears, and Nick holds her steady, one hand spread wide over her quivering stomach.

"So good," Nick says in her ear, sounding breathless. "Good good girl."

It wrenches a last moan out of Harry's mouth, and she slumps back into Nick's arms, boneless. She's bloody _floating_. Nick's a genius. Nick is a - witch. Harry hums happily, grin spreading across her face. She swears she's come more times in the last month than she has in all the other months combined.

Nick's idly groping her, hands on her tits, breath hot and unsteady in Harry's ear.

"I can-" Harry says, slowly. She's still not that good at getting Nick off, but that's no excuse to fall asleep on her like a lump and leave Nick unsatisfied. "Like. Do you want me to-"

"You're half-dead, aren't you, lazy-arse," Nick murmurs.

"I can rally," Harry promises. "Gimme a minute. I can try fingering you again."

"No, no," Nick says, and one of her hands slips off Harry's chest, wriggles between her crotch and Harry's arse. "No. You just stay right there."

"Right here?"

Nick sighs. Harry can feel her hand moving as she touches herself. "Yeah, right there."

"What if I moved here?" Harry whispers, grinding her arse down against Nick's hand, the cradle of her hips, and Nick inhales sharply.

"Hazza-"

Harry circles her hips, and Nick's hand starts wriggling again, faster. Harry can hear her breath catch.

"Does it feel good?" Harry asks, moving Nick's other hand to her belly so she can press closer.   

Nick mutters something unintelligible.

"Tell me," Harry murmurs, tipping her head back against Nick's shoulder, exposing her throat. Nick has a good view like that, all the way down Harry's body, the full heave of Harry's breasts and her long legs, glistening wet. Nick groans, bites down on Harry's shoulder.

"Good," she breathes. "Good, yeah."

"Make you wet to get me off?"

Nick whines. "Brat."

"It did, didn't it." Harry feels so good, back arching, chest bobbing in the water. She wants Nick to watch her, to want her. "You'd do it anytime if I asked. Crawl under the table and lick me out-"

Nick lets out a shaking high sound, hand moving faster.

"You would," Harry whispers, grinding down harder against Nick's knuckles, pushing Nick's fingers deeper. "Eat me whenever I wanted."

"God, you _brat_ ," Nick repeats, voice hoarse. She's close, Harry can tell in the tremble of her legs, setting the surface of the water shaking.

"Just admit it." Harry turns her mouth to Nick's neck, kisses her right above her pounding pulse. "You love my cunt. Love how I taste."

" _Harry_ ," Nick groans.

"Yeah, yeah, c'mon, Grim," Harry whispers. Her neck is going damp with sweat, and she's breathing hard, and she can hear Nick's fingers, wet and muffled under the water. "C'mon. Just wanna see you come. Come on-"

Nick grunts against Harry's neck and goes still, breath held. A second later it rushes out of her in a loud gasp, and her hand tightens on Harry's belly until it hurts.

She lets go after a minute, breath shaking out into Harry's ear. "Ohh. Fucking god."

Harry turns over with a splash, water spilling out of the side of the tub, and straddles Nick's legs, kisses her hard. She pulls back after only a few moments, because she wants to see Nick's face, and - oh. Nick's blinking up at her, heavy-lidded. Her cheeks are flushed deep pink, hair sticking wetly to her neck, chest still heaving. She looks wrecked. Harry has to kiss her.

Nick holds her hips as they snog, lazy and slow. Harry's yawning against her mouth by the end, head heavy, and Nick pulls away, stroking Harry's hair, laughing.

"Bout to pass out, aren't you."

"Maybe."

" _Maybe_ ," Nick laughs softly. "C'mon, idiot, let's go to bed."

Harry nods, and follows Nick out of the tub.

They dry off quick, brush teeth, go to bed with wet hair. Nick fussily lays out a towel over her pillow, urges Harry down onto it, carefully spreading out her curls. Harry lets Nick arrange her like a doll, trying not to laugh.

"What?" Nick asks, peering down at her, nose scrunching.

"Nothing." Harry feels giddy, punch-drunk, her limbs tingling from too much wine and time in the hot water.

"You have a lot of hair, Styles. Too much, some would say."

Harry just sighs and closes her eyes.

After a minute, she feels Nick lean down to kiss her cheek. She smells good. Harry inhales, lets it out slow.

"G'night," she murmurs happily, and she's asleep before Nick can say it back.

\---

Spring melts into summer, and everything's warm and easy and perfect. Harry sleeps at Nick's flat for two weeks straight, only goes home to grab more clothes and pick up her mail. Nick likes to crank the A/C until it's practically freezing, and sleeps under two duvets. Harry always wakes up sweating with the covers twisted between her legs.

The days go the same, sliding into each other, an easy routine. They wake up, and have sex - slow lazy sex, or quick and frantic, grinding against each other with Nick's fingers rubbing hard inside her. Kissing, because Harry's found she really really likes to kiss while Nick touches her. They eat, across from each other at Nick's kitchen table, music playing from Nick's laptop. Go out shopping, or stay in watching telly, or go to meetings if they've got them, or to Primrose Hill to lay out in the sun with Aimee and Pixie and Gillian. Dinner at Nick's, and Nick goes to radio, and if Harry's lucky Nick lets her come along.

She likes those nights best. Sitting in studio watching Nick talk. Nick gets into arguments with Finchy during songs, and Harry likes to wait until the absolute worst moment before popping in with a helpful comment. It's fun to watch them both nearly explode.

One night they go out after Nick does the radio, to a pub where her friend Collette is singing jazz. Harry has three whiskey-sours, egg white frothy on the top, and Nick puts a warm hand on her bare thigh under the table. When Collette finishes Nick whoops her approval, and Harry musters up the energy to whistle through her fingers, loud and piercing. Nick grins at her, shoves her over in the leather booth, and Harry has to fight to not just kiss Nick right then and there.

They share a cab home. Harry holds hands with Nick on the seat between them, and Nick looks out the window, city lights reflecting off her glasses. Harry thinks Nick's scared, sometimes, of - all that sort of stuff. Hand-holding and all. Harry's a bit scared too, but it feels so good all the same.

"Nick," she says.

"Mmhm," Nick murmurs.  

Harry swallows. Toys with Nick's fingers, long and slender. Her well-kept nails, short and blunt, painted a soft peach color. She has a tiny dark tattoo on one wrist, an anchor. Harry can't see it in the dark of the cab but she knows it's there.

Nick turns to look at her, when Harry doesn't say anything.

"What?"

"Nothing," Harry says, slowly. "Just. Tonight was fun."

_I love you_ , she thinks she might want to say, but her mouth goes dry before she can. It's silly. She's told Nick she loves her about a million times, but never since they started - this whole thing.

"Yeah, Collette is good, int she?" Nick says, mouth tugging up at the corner. "She's fucking _mental_ , but she can sing. Bit like you."

Harry grins. "You think I can sing?"

Nick rolls her eyes. "You know you can sing, popstar. We’ve all heard you belting Shakira at karaoke, stop fishing."

Harry huffs a laugh, looks down where their hands are still linked.

"I'm, like, having a really good time," she says, swallowing hard.  "With you. Like, with all this."

"What is this," Nick says suspiciously. "Is this a DTR? Is this a _relationship talk_ , Styles, are you doing a relationship talk in a taxi right now?"

"No," Harry says, forcing a laugh. "It's just me saying I - I like you. And fucking you. I like fucking you."

She trails her finger gently over the soft inside of Nick's palm, and she can feel the tremor run up Nick's wrist.

"Well, thanks for the feedback," Nick says. She coughs. "I- I like fucking you too, Harry Styles."

"How romantic," Harry says, trying not to laugh.

"We really are, aren't we."

"Like a fairytale."

"The fair maiden and the horrible four-eyed ogre," Nick says, sighing, and Harry punches her. "Ey, no punches!"

"You're not four-eyed," Harry says, leaving her hand on Nick's thigh. "Who says four-eyed anymore? It doesn't even make sense."

"Me. I do. I say four-eyed."

"Well, you're an idiot."

"Heyy. Bit nasty to say when I'm already an ogre-"

"Idiot," Harry repeats firmly, but she can't stop grinning. Nick just puts her hand over Harry's on her thigh, smiles out the window until they're home.

\---

"Well?" Harry says, first thing, when Nick unlocks the front door and comes inside, dropping her bag on the ground. Nick’s been texting her stressed emojis all day, stuck in meetings at the Beeb with her boss and manager. "How'd it go?"

Nick walks right past her, into the kitchen, and fumbles for a beer in the fridge. Harry's heart sinks.

"Shit," she says. "Shit. Nick, what happened."

Nick turns around, and takes a long swallow of beer. Her eyes are dark and utterly unreadable.

"Nick," Harry says, slowly. "I'm gonna bloody kill you if you don't tell me what happened _right this second_ -"

"I can't."

"What?"

Nick just sips her beer again, and then swallows. "I can't tell you."

"You can't - so - so you didn't get sacked."

Nick shakes her head, and Harry lets out a gasp of relief, clutching her heart.

"Jesus, you scared me."

"Not sacked. But I just can't, like. Tell you."

Her eyes are all bright, and Harry studies her curiously.

"You can't tell me."

Nick shakes her head.

"Did you get a promotion?" Harry asks, holding onto the countertop with one hand.

Nick just smiles blankly.

"Did you get a different time slot?"

An eyebrow-raise and another smile. Harry's not sure if she's on the right track, but-

"So, a different show. What, weekends?"

Nick just hums, sips her beer.

"Wait," Harry says, chest going tight, pieces clicking into place. "Wait."

Nick watches her.

"Oh my god. _Nick_."

Nick's cheeks suck in like she's trying not to smile.

Harry inhales shakily. "Did you- did you get Breakfast?"

Nick's mouth curves up just enough, eyes gleaming, and Harry screams.

"Shut the fuck up!" she yells, even though Nick hasn't said anything in a while, and she throws her arms around Nick. Her heart's pounding, and Nick hugs back, gasping out a laugh.

"Oh my god," Harry says against Nick's neck. "Oh my fucking god, Nick, you thought you were gonna be _sacked_ -"

"Was so scared," Nick chokes out. ‘Thought I was gonna shit myself or summat, oh my god.”

"Holy- holy shit." Harry pulls away, one hand on the back of Nick's neck. "Nick. You're gonna do that. You're gonna host-"

"Shh, shhh, you can't say _anything_ ," Nick says, wide-eyed. "I so wasn't supposed to say anything, I'd get _murdered_ if they found out."

"You didn't say anything. I guessed it."

Nick rolls her eyes, and Harry has to kiss her, because otherwise she feels like she's going to sob, and she doesn't even bloody know why.

Nick kisses back, wraps her arms around Harry's neck and tugs her in, and it's a long time before Harry pulls away.

Nick's crying when she does, her eyes all watery, mascara running. Harry runs her thumbs underneath them, and Nick shakes her head, looking annoyed with herself.

"Dunno why I'm-" she says, voice thick. "It's just so, like. _Me_ , Haz. Me. On Breakfast."

"It's fucking amazing."

Nick shakes her head again, sniffing in hard, and Harry kisses her again, her soft open mouth, lips tasting salty.

"You're gonna be amazing," Harry whispers. "Like so, so good."

Nick doesn't say anything.

"Grim."

"Yeah. I'm just. Shit, I still can't believe it."

"I can," Harry says fiercely.

"Oh, shut up," Nick chokes, swallowing.

"I won't bloody shut up. You're gonna be so fucking good. Shit, Nick. _Breakfast_. The Breakfast Show with Nick Grimshaw."

Nick's breath catches.

"God, that sounds weird," she whispers.

Harry wipes her fingers over Nick's damp cheeks, cups her face. She's still not quite sure what her heart's doing, all big and wobbly in her chest.

"You'll be so good," she says, voice almost shaking with how much she means it.

"Alright, what are you, my life coach?" Nick says, snorting wetly. "Chill out, Styles."

Harry rolls her eyes. Nick's so full of shite.

She's going to turn away when Nick tugs her in again, by the back of the head, and kisses Harry's half-open mouth.

"Thanks," she breathes, low in her throat. Harry shivers, kisses back.

She tugs Nick backwards toward the bedroom, laughing when Nick nearly trips.

"Careful!"

"You careful," Nick says warmly back, hands on Harry's hips, laughing in her face with her tongue tucked between her teeth. Harry's only got a skirt on, and she hums happily when Nick's hand moves between her thighs, warm fingers sliding up her leg. "Not wearing pants, you _slag_ -"

"You love it," Harry says, breathless now that Nick's reached her bare cunt, fingers pressing inside.

"Shut it," Nick murmurs back. "Let's go. Bed."

\---

"Good birthday, Grim?" Harry asks, as she shuts the door, locks it. Nick's drunk and giggly, barefoot since the cab ride, when she'd tugged off her Manolos and dropped them in Harry's lap like Harry knew what to bloody do with them.

"Yeah," Nick murmurs, fumbling with the buttons on her shirt. "Really good. Best one yet. Cept when I was twelve and me mum got me tickets to Macy Gray, that was the best day of my _life_ -"  

Harry nods as Nick keeps rambling, and steers Nick gently into the kitchen.

"Whassat weird light?" Nick grumbles. "Neighbors leave the stupid porch light on aga- _oh_. Oh my god."

She stops dead, and Harry holds her breath, watching Nick - see it. The light is pale blue, eerie and soft. When Harry saw it she knew she had to buy it straightaway, no matter the cost, no matter if it was for sale or not. Nick needed to have it.

"Who's- who's that for," Nick stammers out, sounding terrified.

Harry stays quiet.

" _Harry_ ," Nick says, voice cracking. "You _didn't_. Oh, god. Oh god."

"D'you like it?"

Nick's staring at the neon sign, bracing herself on the kitchen table.

"That's for me?" she asks. She sounds- little. Like a kid. Harry puts her face against Nick's arm, a hand between her shoulderblades. Nick's shaking.

"Yeah, Grim," she mumbles. "It's for you."

"Oh, _god_ ," Nick breathes, eyes bright. "Harry. But that's- that's."

Harry swallows hard, pulling Nick in closer, fingers around her arm. Nick turns, collapses into her.

"You're mental," she says shakily in Harry's ear. "You-"

"Do you like it?"

"I _love_ it, I-" Nick pulls away from her. Her eyes are glassy. "I love it."

She rubs at her eyes.

"Happy birthday, Grim."

"Oh- god." Nick makes a frustrated sound. "God, you're too good."

Harry grins, slips her arms around Nick's neck. "Yeah? How good am I?"

"Shut up." Nick hugs her close, still staring at the sign.

"It, like." Harry tries to get the words out. Sometimes her throat swells when she's with Nick, like there's too much crowding inside her to actually speak. "It's- when I saw it I felt like- like how you make me feel."

Nick doesn't say anything. She very quietly puts her head down on Harry's shoulder.

"You make me really happy," Harry whispers against her hair. “Just wanted to make you happy back.”

Nick snuffles out a whimpery sound.

“Fuck,” she says. “Fuck.”

“What?” Harry breathes, laughing a little.

“Just-” Nick shakes her head. “God, I could fall in love with you.”

Harry’s breath catches hard, and she squeezes Nick tight, pulling her in. It's a delicate balancing act, trying to keep Nick from getting cagey like she always does when she gets too mushy.

“Haz-” Nick’s voice is shaky.

“It’s okay,” Harry whispers, and Nick laughs against her neck.

“No, like, I can’t breathe, Haz.”

Harry pulls away sheepishly. “Oh. Sorry.”

Nick kisses her square on the mouth, hand cupping Harry’s jaw.

“Can we go to bed?” she asks, and there’s a weight in it that makes Harry’s heart race. _i could fall in love with you_. Christ.

Harry shivers, all the way down her spine, and nods.

\---

Nick's face appears in front of her, upside down as she leans over the back of the couch to watch where Harry's half-trying to answer emails but mostly just scrolling through Instagram.

"Alright, young Styles?" she says, hair hanging down. Harry reaches up for a handful and tugs gently, and Nick squawks.

"Stoppit!" She straightens up, climbs over the back of the couch to fall in a squirming heap in Harry's lap, legs everywhere. Harry wriggles until they're situated, Nick's arse planted firmly on Harry's thighs. Nick leans in for a kiss.

"Hi."

"Hi," Harry says, wrapping an arm around Nick's shoulders. Nick's grinning.

"D'you know what," she says, softly, leaning in to press her mouth against Harry's again.

"What?"

"I'm not bored of you," Nick says, sounding quietly surprised.

"Aw, thanks, what a glowing compliment-"

"Shut it, Styles. You know what I mean."

She strokes Harry's hair away from her face, carefully presses a kiss against her cheekbone. Harry lets herself be kissed. Something still thrills in her, every time Nick touches her like they're more than mates. Sometimes Harry forgets, for a minute, and then Nick'll slip her hand onto Harry's hip or palm the curve of her arse, and Harry remembers it all over again.

Like now. Nick's starting to kiss her neck, and her hand's sliding into Harry's bra, cupping the weight of her breast until Harry shivers with pleasure.

"Mmgh," Harry mumbles, putting her hand over Nick's just as Nick rubs her nipple. "Wait. You were giving me a compliment."

"Brat," Nick laughs, rolling the flat of her palm inside Harry's bra, until her nipple starts to perk up, hard against Nick's hand.

"Ni-ick."

"Shh-sh," Nick says, sliding Harry's bra strap off one shoulder. She kisses the skin it was pressed against, moves her mouth further down. Harry helpfully pulls the other strap off herself, shudders when Nick tugs the bra down and reaches around to undo the strap.

She fishes it out of Harry's shirt, tosses it aside, gets her hands on Harry's tits through the soft cotton of her top. Harry groans, legs splaying, one hand wrapped around Nick's hip to keep her balanced.

"God," Nick mutters. "Your tits are so fucking perfect."

Harry wants to say thank you, but then Nick's ducking her head to suck at Harry's nipple through the fabric and Harry can't think of anything else. Nick lets her teeth graze over the hard nub until Harry's letting out a rough sound from deep in her throat.

"Feel good?" Nick says, breathing hard.

"Yeah," Harry manages to say, before Nick shoves her onto her back on the sofa, straddles her thighs and leans down again. It's maddening, how she won't take Harry's shirt off, and when Harry tries Nick holds her hands down, keeps licking and biting at Harry's nipples.

"Fucking- _god_ , Nick, please," Harry chokes, writhing under her. "Shit, please-"

Nick lifts her head, eyes dark, and slides her hand down Harry's belly into her jeans, undoing the zip as she goes. Harry whimpers, twists, when Nick slips two fingers down between her lips right away, dragging through the slick.

"Wet for me?" Nick whispers.

"Always," Harry says, red-faced. S'what it feels like lately. Nick only has to _look_ at her and Harry starts squirming.

Nick laughs, and tugs Harry's jeans down, lowers her head between Harry's legs.

Christ, it's good. It's always so fucking good. Harry's shagged a lot of boys who knew how to use their tongues, but Nick's- Nick's something else. Maybe it's not just the tongue, it's everything _else_ \- the way Nick strokes her inner thighs while she kisses Harry's clit, the way she reaches up with one hand to play with Harry's nipple, twists three fingers inside her at the same time until Harry feels like a fucking instrument being played by an expert in said instrument. Like she's a violin, and Nick's - Nick's - Yo-Yo Ma. Unless- did Yo-Yo Ma even play the violin? Maybe he played, like, the fiddle or something. No, it wasn't the fiddle, it was bigger, Harry's pretty sure-

Nick lifts her head to gasp in a breath, and Harry peers thoughtfully down at her.

"What instrument did Yo-Yo Ma play?"

Nick stares at her. "Are you fucking kidding me? Is that what you're thinking about?"

Harry starts giggling. The look on Nick's face! She's trying to be indignant, but there's Harry's wet smeared on her chin, and her hair's all flopped down on one side of her head.

"You utter cow," Nick says, thumbing roughly over Harry's clit, and Harry's laugh turns into a moan. "Going on about Yo-Yo fucking Ma when I'm doing my best work here."

"Sorry, sorry," Harry says breathlessly, when Nick presses down hard. Harry squeaks, helpless. "I'm _sorry,_ fuck, please, Nick-"

"Shut it, now, Haz. No more questions about ancient cellists."

Cello! Harry knew it wasn't violin. "I will, I will."

Nick goes back to work and she tips her head back against the sofa, slings one leg up over the back so Nick can get deeper, closes her eyes.

She comes twice, in shuddering waves that make her thighs clench, not sure where one ends and one begins. Nick's good for that, too. Harry's had more than one orgasm nearly every time Nick's licked her out. Nick's _patient_ down there. Committed.

Nick tips her head against the side of the sofa, laughs out a tired breath, blinking at Harry from between her legs.

"I swear to God, Styles," she says. "Could spend all fucking day down there."

Harry grins, and Nick leans in, gives her cunt a wet open-mouthed kiss. Harry clenches, oversensitive, and Nick pulls back, presses the flat of her hand between Harry's legs, over the heat of her. Smiles to herself.

"You're like really, really gay, aren't you," Harry says, watching Nick lick her lips.

"The gayest," Nick agrees, looking heavy-lidded and happy. "Now d'you fancy showing me how gay you are, popstar?"

She sits up on her knees, yanks off her shirt in one smooth motion, and Harry props herself up on her elbows, taking it in. Nick's not wearing a bra- doesn't need one a lot of the time, which Harry envies- and she's a long stretch of uninterrupted pale skin, freckled and soft, her nipples pink and tight.

Harry swallows a rush of saliva, and tugs at Nick's wrist until Nick's spreading out on top of her, sighing and clamping her thighs around one of Harry's.

"Go on then," Harry says, petting Nick's hair, reaching to cup Nick's breast in her hand, small and soft. She shoves her thigh up between Nick's legs and Nick groans, hips rolling. "Get yourself off."

Nick looks up at her. "Oh, I'm supposed to do all the work?"

Harry just grins, shoves her thigh up between Nick's legs, and Nick whimpers at the pressure. Harry can feel her cunt quivering, hot and close, thighs tight around Harry's leg. "I wanna watch you."

Nick gets off just like that, breath choppy and harsh, riding Harry's thigh. She collapses on top of Harry and laughs against her mouth, sounding giddy.

"Christ," she sighs. "Not an awful way to spend a Sunday afternoon."

"Should I make tea?" Harry says fondly, stroking Nick's hair.

"Mm, yes." Nick grins into her cheek. "Tea and then bed?"

"It's like half-five, Grim. You're not actually a nana."

"Not bed like _sleep_ , you idiot." Nick kisses her. "You're leaving, when, next week? For ages and ages?"

Harry frowns at the reminder. "For a month. Not ages and ages."

"How many times," Nick says, laying a line of kisses down her throat. "D'you reckon I can make you come before you leave?"

Harry gives a little shiver. "Not sure."

"We better start counting, huh."

"Yeah, we better." Harry snorts, and lets Nick pull her up and towards the bedroom, not even stopping to make tea. They've got other priorities.

\---

"Don't cover your face!" Harry laughs, resettling her weight on Nick's hips as Nick moves under her.

"This is so sordid, though," Nick says, uncovering her eyes anyway. Harry grins, triumphant, except then Nick covers her _tits_ , and that's-

"Hey," Harry says, tugging Nick's arm off her chest. "That defeats the purpose of wank material. I'm leaving _tomorrow_ , Nicola. We don't have time to be shy."

"I feel objectified," Nick says, cheeks flushed pink. "I'm a human being, Harriet- _ah_."

She gives a quick shiver as Harry gently tugs one of her nipples. " _Haz_."

"I'm like a fluffer," Harry says, moving her hand to the other nipple, rubbing two fingers over it til it's tight and hard. Nick squirms beneath her. "In porn. It's the person who has to keep the actors hard between shots-"

"I know what it is, Haz."

"Put your arms up," Harry says, stroking her hand down over Nick's ribcage. "Like behind your head."

Nick puts one arm up, rolling her eyes. "Oh god. I haven't shaved in like three days-"

"Who cares," Harry says, shoving Nick's arm when she tries to put it back down. "Arms _up_ , Grimshaw. Yesss, like that."

Finally Nick's arranged how Harry wants it, her arms behind her head, nipples taut. Her hair's a mess on the pillow and she looks doubtful.

"I still think I should put something over my face," she says. "What if someone steals your phone? What if there's an _information leak_?"

"Then I'll have tit pics on my phone, don't matter who they're of," Harry says sensibly. "And we'll all be screwed, and I'll go off and be a leper on an island somewhere, because God forbid anyone know I like girls."

Nick rolls her eyes. "Take the bloody photo, Haz."

Harry puts her phone down, on the soft dip of skin below Nick's ribcage.

"Harry-"

"Shh," Harry says, right before she slides the width of both her hands up Nick's chest, thumbs over her nipples. Nick draws in a shaky breath.

"Stop fluffing me, Harry."

"Never," Harry says solemnly. She moves her hands further, strokes gently in the hollow of Nick's armpits, prickly with stubble. Back down to her chest, circling her thumbs on Nick's nipples as Nick shivers.

By the time she lifts her hands again, Nick's eyes are dark, lids heavy, a flush spreading down her pale throat. Properly fluffed.

"You're so bloody fit," Harry says, voice unsteady. Her own cheeks are red, and she can't resist the urge to press down against Nick's hips, rub her crotch against Nick's in a slow roll.

Nick groans, one hand unfolding to reach for Harry, and Harry stops, controls herself, shoves Nick's arm down again.

"Stay still."

"Take the bloody picture then," Nick says breathlessly. "I'm bored and I want to fuck you."

Harry wriggles down onto Nick's hips to keep her still, and picks up her phone.

\---

"Y'know, I don't expect, like." Nick stops, from where she's standing at the counter stirring sugar into her tea, later that night. "Not expecting either of us to - to wait around. When you're off doing popstar things."

Harry kicks her feet against the counter, legs swinging on one of Nick's kitchen stools. "Wait around?"

Nick's back is turned to Harry, and her voice is careful when she says, "I mean, like. When you're off on tour. When you're not in London, I mean. I'm not, like, really cut out for the whole piney weepy teeth-gnashing shite."

"Teeth-gnashing," Harry repeats slowly. "Gnashing teeth."

Nick chokes a laugh, and turns to her, taking a sip of tea. "You know what I mean."

"You're saying we won't be exclusive," Harry says, more boldly than she feels.

Nick laughs again. "Have we ever been exclusive?"

"I dunno. Haven't fucked anyone else lately."

"That bloke last weekend," Nick points out.

"Oh my _god_ , we only snogged."

"He had his hand up your skirt," Nick says, laughing again, stilted. "Not that it matters."

"Well, what about when I came back from Manchester. There was some girl sleeping in your bed."

"That was Emily, and we're not shagging," Nick says, eyebrows furrowing. "We're just mates."

"Hard to bloody tell," Harry grumbles. "With all your _mates_."

Nick rolls her eyes. "I don't fuck most of my mates, Harriet."

"Only the fittest ones," Harry says, dimpling up at her.

Nick pulls a face, but Harry can tell she wants to smile. "Don't be cute."

"Heyyy. I can't help it."

Nick snorts, falls silent.

"So," she says. "We'll - see other people. If it comes up. Yeah?"

Harry watches her.

"Do you want to see other people?"

Nick lets out a strangled breath. "That's not the point."

"It seems like the point. Seems like you do."

Nick chews her lip.

"What I want to do," she says. "Is not spend months waiting for someone who-"

She stops.

"Someone who what?" Harry asks, throat clenching. "Someone who's straight?"

"That's not what I was going to say."

"Someone who's a slag? Someone who fucks around?"

"Harry, _god_ ," Nick breathes. "That's not what I meant."

Harry inhales deep, stares down at the counter so Nick won't see her eyes starting to fill.

"What, then," she manages to say.

"Someone who's really bloody fit and really bloody young, and - and is about to travel the world and meet a million bloody people." Nick stops, voice cracking. She coughs. "C'mon, popstar, you deserve a bit more than this. I- I'll be here, when you're home, like I'm not gonna run off and get married, but you don't have to-"

"You're an idiot," Harry mutters. _Deserves more_ , like there's- more. Like there's more than Nick.

"I _am_ an idiot," Nick agrees. "I'm a giant idiot with commitment issues and the attention span of a bloody goldfish. I don't do girlfriends, Harry. Never have."

Harry's vision blurs over, and she has to reach up to scrub at her eye before a tear drops.

"Oh- shit, love, don't cry," Nick mutters. "Haz. That was meant to be a good thing."

Harry fumbles for a napkin to blow her nose. "How's that a good thing?"

"What I'm saying is you don't need to worry about me," Nick says desperately. "Like, I'm fine. No pining. No teeth-gnashing. I'm like one of those turtles who reproduces by itself."

"That's not a thing," Harry chokes out.

"Maybe not a turtle. A frog. Whatever."

"You have a lot of sex for someone who reproduces by yourself."

Nick huffs a laugh. "Alright, so it was a shit analogy. You know what I mean."

Harry looks up at her, and Nick reaches across the counter to swipe damp from Harry's cheek, her hand warm and face soft.

"Don't cry, popstar," she murmurs.

"Just - just gonna miss you," Harry chokes, and she has to swallow back a sob.

Nick's eyes go wide.

"Yeah, me too," she says, low. "Course I will. But I always knew, like-"

"I know you knew." Harry sucks in a breath, tugging at Nick's arm til she stumbles around the counter towards her. "I know. But it's still shit."

Nick folds her into her arms, gingerly. "It is still shit."

Harry puts her face to Nick's neck, blows out a long breath.

"It's only a month," Nick says softly.

"I know."

"And you'll be back in London for a good long time before tour starts properly."

"Fuck, I know, Nick." Harry digs her teeth into the meat of Nick's shoulder, nosing against her. "Shut up."

Nick shuts up, and pulls her in close. 

\---

Harry's phone buzzes again, and she fumbles for the zip on the back of her dress, fingers slipping. California's fucking hot this time of year, and it's their first VMAs, so Harry's covered half with stress-sweat and half with real-sweat.

"Fucking hell," she mutters, reaching over to check her phone. It's Niall. _where the fk are u? come to the stage were soundchecking!!!_

"Fuuucking hell!" she repeats, and the door swings open. Harry turns, wide-eyed, and-

"Oh. You're - you're Taylor Swift."

Taylor - cos that's who it is, Taylor Swift, looking all shiny and perfect in a long champagne-colored dress and an updo that's practically shellacked to her head.

"Yes," Taylor says, mouth quirking up. "You're from One Direction."

"Yes." Harry swallows. "Nice- nice to meet you."

The door opens again, and a girl sticks her head in. "Tay?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Annie's like dying to fix your hair, it's looking a little Stepford Wife-"

"Okay, thanks, you jerk." Taylor laughs. "I have to pee, I'll be there in a minute."

The girl peeks around Taylor at Harry, looking curious. "Okay. Hurry though!"

"I'd rather pee thoroughly here then wet myself on stage, Abby, gimme a minute." Taylor laughs, and the door swings shut.

Harry reaches quietly behind her for the zip of her dress, trying to yank it up. The stupidest most stubborn dress _ever_. Her phone buzzes again, and she groans.

Taylor's opening a stall, but she looks over at Harry. "How're you doing, babe?"

"Can't get my dress," Harry admits, and Taylor clucks and sweeps over to her, turning Harry around by the shoulders.

"There-" her hands are cool against Harry's heated skin. "- you go. All done."

"Thank you, sorry," Harry says, trying to thumb sweat off her temples.

"No worries. I've been there, like, a thousand times. Designer dresses are not made for human people with human needs, like peeing." She squeezes Harry's bare shoulders, lets go and smiles at her in the mirror. "You're Harriet, right?"

"Harry," Harry says. Taylor smells good. Like honeysuckle and vanilla and - Harry sniffs. Just good. Really good. Harry wonders if it'd be weird to, like, turn around and smell Taylor's neck. "Harry Styles."

"Of course. I love you guys, you're adorable."

"I love, uh-" Harry falters. "I love your music."

Taylor smiles, white teeth gleaming. "Thank you. Are you- late for something? Your phone keeps-"

"Oh, _shit_. We're soundchecking." Harry grabs for her phone. Niall's texted three more times, and even Lou's gotten in on it now, with just- _HURRY UP ARE U TAKING A MASSIVE SHIT OR WHT_

"You better run," Taylor says, huffing a laugh.

Harry glances at herself in the mirror.

"You look perfect," Taylor says, patting her shoulder. "And you're gonna kill it. Go, go. Don't forget to breathe."

"Thank you," Harry says, catching eyes with her in the mirror. Taylor smiles, and Harry's mind goes all funny. God, she just wants to bite Taylor's neck a little bit. In a sexy way, not a vampire way.

"If you're sticking around in LA, you should call me, we could hang out," Taylor says, when Harry's halfway out the door. "Seriously, babe, don't be a stranger."

"Okay!" Harry says breathlessly, and the door swings shut behind her. She takes a deep breath, gathers her dress in her hands and flat-out runs for it.

\---

The odd thing is that Taylor actually follows through. Harry’s used to getting invitations at awards shows, used to cheek kisses and promises of best friendship. She figured it was just part of the gig.

But two days after the VMAs she gets a DM on Twitter, as she's scrolling sleepily through her phone during a morning tour rehearsal.

_Hi Harry Styles! Would you like to come over for tea and scones tonight?? Thats what all British people eat, right? 7:30? <3 Taylor _

Lou catches her grinning at her phone instead of listening to Paul lay out their choreography, and kicks at her legs. "Who're you talking to then?"

"No one," Harry says, too quickly, and Lou's eyes narrow. She grabs Harry's phone out of her slack hand, as easy as taking candy from a baby.

"Ohhh, I see," she drawls, scrolling with her thumb. "Thanks for the invite, Haz!"

"Shut up." Harry grabs the phone back. "I've never been over there, I can't just bring other people. It's rude. I barely know her."

"Ohh, not a big deal, just Taylor bloody Swift," Lou says, fixing her with a narrow look.

"Why d'you care, anyway? You don't even like her."

"I don't not like her." Lou arches an eyebrow. "Just not as much as _you_ do."

"Shut up," Harry repeats dumbly. She stares down at her phone. She hates that, when Lou gets too close to the truth. Sometimes she thinks Lou knows. It's not like she and Nick were too discreet.

But she can't say the words out loud. Not to Lou. She could've a year ago, but - not anymore.

After a minute Louise goes off to fill Liam's trainers with M&Ms, and Harry lets out a long breath and opens her DMs.

_Yes please. And yes, Im on a diet of only tea and pastry. Send me your address? See you soon Xx Harry_

She hits send and swallows, staggers up from the sofa to join the others.

\---

"Oh," Harry says, stepping into Taylor's bright roomy kitchen. "You, um, actually have tea and crumpets."

Taylor looks up from the table, laden down with pastries and tiny sandwiches.

"Well, yeah," she says, grinning. "I take tea parties very seriously, Harry Styles, it's not a joke. How are you?"

She gives Harry a hug - a real hug, solid and warm and familiar.

"I'm good. Really good. Better now that there are crumpets."

"I found this incredible clotted cream at this adorable place off La Cienaga? Like, it will clog your arteries with one spoonful, but you'll die happy."

She guides Harry around the table, pointing at things. Harry tries her hardest to listen and not to stare at the curve of Taylor's pale neck, hair pulled up in a sloppy bun.

"Made these scones myself, we have lemon-poppyseed and cranberry white chocolate. Then there are sandwiches- cucumber and watercress, and cream cheese and this amazing fig jam. And then cookies, obviously, because there is nothing more perfect in the world than a good homemade cookie."

"Holy shit," Harry laughs.

"I know, I know, it's totally overboard. I was procrastinating writing, so I went all-out."

"No, it's - it looks amazing."

Taylor smiles, tilting her head. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Like something to _drink_ -drink, or tea?"

"Tea, I guess." A flicker of uncertainty goes over her smooth face. "I mean, if you really want- I might have wine? Or Selena might've left some cider here last time she was-"

"No, it's fine." Harry follows her to the counter, watches as she fills the electric kettle. It's a posh one, with temperatures and a glowing blue light that reminds her of Nick's _Enjoy_ sign. "I'll stick with tea."

"Sorry, I forget other people, like, drink. I'm such a square."

"I don't drink that much," Harry says quickly, which is almost completely a lie, and there are about a thousand pap pics to prove it. "I mean, if I'm out with my mates, yeah, but. Tea sounds perfect."

Taylor smiles over her shoulder. "Good. I like a girl who can appreciate a good cup of tea."

"Ha," Harry says weakly. "Well. You found one."

Taylor's smile widens, and she turns back to the kettle.

\---

Harry must be more jetlagged than she thought, because after stuffing herself with crumpets and scones and at least four finger sandwiches, she passes out on the sofa halfway through _Casablanca_. To be fair, she's always found old movies dead boring, but Taylor waved the DVD in front of her face and bit her lip and Harry said yes just to watch Taylor's eyes crinkle in a grin.

When she wakes up it's dark, moonlight shining through the massive doors that lead out to the patio and the pool. The display on the telly says 11:45PM.

She can hear the faint sound of piano, and she rolls off the sofa, tugging at her dress, and pads down the hall towards the noise.

Taylor's in the pale pink & white bedroom Harry saw earlier on her tour of the house. There's a golden lamp casting shadows on the polished wooden floor, a candle flickering on her nightstand. She has a keyboard in her lap and a guitar by her hip, hair tugged up in a ponytail with a few strands coming loose.

Harry leans against the door, watches her greedily for a bit.

"That… doesn't… work," Taylor mutters to herself, crossing something off in a spiral-bound notebook, before she sets it down and plays a chord on the keyboard. She hums to herself, head bobbing, and then looks up and sees Harry.

"Shoot," she laughs, putting a hand to her heart. "You scared me."

"Sorry," Harry says, strangely shy. Her stomach's a bit wobbly, and she pads inside, sits at the foot of Taylor's massive bed. "It sounded good."

"Thanks," Taylor says, looking pleased. "Why aren't you asleep, Styles? You were passed out."

Harry shrugs, and lets herself fall into bed, crawling up to nestle against Taylor's side like they've known each other longer than a few weeks. Her heart slams against her ribs when Taylor just laughs, puts an arm around her, warm and light.

"Jetlag?" she says sympathetically.

Harry nods. It's half-true.

"Poor Harry," Taylor murmurs, petting the back of Harry's head. "You want some more tea?"

"No, it's alright," Harry mumbles, turning her face against Taylor's neck. Oh god, god, that's too close. Harry has to clench to resist opening her mouth against Taylor's skin, putting her tongue there, seeing what happens.

It'll ruin everything. Harry knows that. They barely even know each other, and Taylor’s - straight. Probably.

She keeps her mouth closed, noses right behind Taylor's ear and blows out a raspberry, and Taylor giggles ticklishly.

"Stop it, weirdo," she chides, shoving Harry's head away. "Here, lay down. I'll play you a lullaby."

Harry wriggles gamely into bed, pulling up Taylor's white fluffy duvet. Taylor's bed smells of flowery candles and her apple shampoo, a far cry from Nick's cigarette-and-lavender scent. Harry inhales a lungful, chews her bottom lip and shifts her thighs together under the covers.

The song Taylor plays isn't one Harry knows, but it's nice, slow and achey. Harry watches her, the wrinkle on her nose when she's concentrating, how unselfconscious she is about singing.

When she stops Harry's half-asleep, warm and soothed, and she distantly hears the clunk of the keyboard, the slap of notebook against wooden floor, and then Taylor's eye-to-eye with her in bed, smiling. The lamp turns off with a click.

"Well?"

"Was good," Harry murmurs. "Really good."

"Think I'll play it in the Live Lounge next month," Taylor says, covering a yawn with one hand.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's a pretty sick cover. And I can actually play it while singing."

"You could play anything," Harry murmurs.

Taylor grins, teeth flashing, eyes going to happy slits. "You're too kind, Styles. I should invite you over more often.”

"Seriously," Harry mumbles. "You could."

Taylor's right there, and Harry can't stop herself from leaning in to press the lightest kiss against Taylor's cheek.

Taylor stays completely still, breath hot and juddering out against Harry's mouth, so Harry kisses her lips this time, very softly, their bottom lips catching in a hot drag of sensitive skin that makes Harry tingle all the way down to her toes.

It's like a shock of cold water when Taylor pulls away.

"What are you doing?" she asks, half a laugh caught in her voice.

Harry blinks at her, makes herself laugh. "Nothing."

Her stomach's in knots. She feels like a coward, cos she knows exactly what she's doing, she just doesn't want Taylor to know if Taylor's not going to want it too.

Taylor laughs again, the sound of it forced. "I'm going to sleep."

"Me too," Harry says, voice small, and Taylor turns over in bed, back to Harry. Lets out a sigh that sounds final.

Harry stares at her for a minute, until she thinks Taylor can probably feel it, so she closes her eyes.

\---

"So, Taylor, eh?" Ed says, when they're in studio the next week, sprawled out over the sofa while Liam records some harmonies.

"What about her?" Harry says, carefully staring up at the ceiling, her feet in Ed's lap. He's been refusing to massage them, but Harry thinks if she just persists, he'll accept his fate.  

"She's cool, in't she? I saw those photos of you two at Go Greek."

"Yeah." They’ve hung out three times in the past week. Harry slept over there again on Thursday. They ate more homemade cookies in bed and traded stories about touring and Harry maybe, maybe watched her sleep for a while. Only a tiny while.

"I thought you two would get on. Taylor likes cleaning up messes."

"Arsehole," Harry grumbles, kicking his thigh, and Ed laughs, taking a sip from his water bottle.

"But like, really." He looks over at her. "She's pretty sick."

"Yeah, she's cool."

"Don't try and play it cool, Haz. S'all over your face. You want to make her your best friend."

Harry bites her lip. Is that what's all over her face?

"That'd be sick if, like, you two were best mates, and me and Taylor were, like- uh." Ed stops mid-sentence, ears going red, and carefully starts studying Harry's foot like it contains the secrets to the universe.

"You and Taylor were…"

Ed's cheeks are flaming by now. "Also mates. All three of us mates. Just a big group of platonic buddies."  

Harry sits up, heel digging into Ed's crotch by accident. He squawks and shoves her legs off.

"Ow!"

"You _fancy_ her," Harry says, breathless. "You fancy Taylor."

Ed looks cagey. "Everyone fancies her. It's Taylor bloody Swift."

It's a fair point, but Harry doesn't acknowledge it. Her mind's racing. Ed fancies Taylor. And Taylor would probably fancy Ed back, why wouldn't she. Sure, Ed's not exactly a beefcake, but Taylor's not into that sort of bloke anyway. She's into sensitive ones who can play guitar and write lyrics and care about her cats.

Harry sticks a thumbnail into her mouth to gnaw at.

"Haz," Ed says, sounding weary. "Say something before my hair turns grey."

"Your hair's never turning grey, Sheeran," Harry says absently. "You'll be ninety years old and still look like a carrot."

Ed laughs, just as Niall pokes her head in.

"Hey, Ed," she says. "Fancy showing me what you were thinkin' for the bridge?"

"Yeah, mate." Ed rolls off the sofa and follows Niall out of the room, grabbing his guitar as he goes.

Harry sprawls out on her back, one leg dangling off the sofa, and stares up at the ceiling.

So Ed and Taylor'll start dating, and Harry'll be - that awkward third wheel at dinner. The single friend they cluck over and try to set up on dates. They'll run off happily into the sunset and make ginger babies who come out of the womb playing guitar. Because that's what Taylor wants, isn't it. A nice boy she can take home to her mum. A nice boy. A _boy_.

Harry sighs long-sufferingly. It’s not fair. The thing is, Harry bets Taylor would like it if she just tried it. If she just, like, experimented a bit. Everyone likes orgasms.

Maybe they could all experiment a bit. Harry, and Taylor, and… Ed. Harry sucks her bottom lip into her mouth to keep from laughing at the idea. Now that’d be one hell of a night. Yes, Ed’s a bit like her brother, but he’s also cute, and she didn’t mind the times she’s snogged him in Spin the Bottle. Plus, more importantly - Taylor will be there.

Harry turns her face into the sofa, too far gone to keep from grinning. She hears the door swing shut and she lifts her head, just as Ed picks up her legs and settles back onto the sofa beneath them.

“Hey.”

“Hiya,” Harry says, trying not to smile. Ed looks at her suspiciously.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” Harry chirps. “Rub my feet, c’mon, _please_.”

Ed groans and finally acquiesces.

“So,” he says, as he moves from Harry’s left foot to her right. “Does Niall have a boyfriend?”

Harry’s half asleep, sighing happily. Ed’s got strong hands from playing guitar for a thousand years and they feel amazing. “Why, you interested?”

“Pftt. No.” Ed ducks his head, digging his thumb into the arch of Harry’s foot. “Was just wondering. I kinda thought she was a lesbian. She’s really into footy.”

Harry snorts. “She once described in detail every dirty thing she’d to Cristiano Ronaldo. She’s not a lesbian.”

“So that’s, like, her type,” Ed says, not looking at her. “Like footballers.”

“I dunno. I don’t think she’s ever had a boyfriend, really.” Harry kicks his thigh, bored. She loves Niall very much, but it’s plan-a-threesome time, not talk-about-Niall time. “Heyy, listen. You want to come over to Taylor’s house this weekend?”

“Are you inviting me over to someone else’s house?” Ed laughs. “My own mate’s house, who I’ve known longer than you have? Actually?”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah.”

Ed shrugs back. “Alright. I'm up for it.”

“Cool.” Harry rolls off the sofa. “Thanks for the foot rub, carrot-top.”

Ed makes a rude gesture, and Harry returns it cheerily and pads into the studio. Niall’s craned over her guitar, mumbling to herself, and she smacks Harry’s hand away when Harry tries to give her a cuddle.

“Heyyy,” Harry whines.

“I almost had that, Haz, just-” Niall huffs a sigh and looks up.

“It’s not like you’re gonna play it onstage,” Harry says, plucking at a guitar string.

“Dan said if I keep practicing, like, I could try a couple-” Niall shrugs. “Whatever. What’s up, mate?”

“Bored. Liam’s taking forever doing his verses.” Harry reaches for Niall’s guitar. “Teach me that Eagles song again?”

Niall rolls her eyes, but dutifully shapes Harry’s fingers into the chord. “G - D-”

“Hey,” Harry says, once she’s mostly got it, and Niall’s humming along, moving Harry’s fingers whenever she fucks up. “Ed asked me if you’ve got a boyfriend.”

Niall looks up from the guitar, pink-cheeked, running her tongue along her braces like she does when she's nervous. “What? What’d, uh, what’d you say?”

“Told him about Cristiano, of course. Your betrothed.”

“Haz, I’ve told you a million fucking times it’s Xabi Alonso I fancy, not bloody Ronaldo. He’s a twat who wears too much hair gel, and Xabi’s a god. Plus, who wants to fuck a striker? Halfback’s where it’s at. God, I bet he eats pussy like a fucking champ-”

“Er, who does?” says a small voice behind them, and Harry twists around to see Liam holding the studio door open, eyebrows raised. She falls over laughing, guitar still in her arms.

“Oh- _shut_ up, both of you!” Niall yelps, bright red. “Haz, give me my bloody guitar back before you break it. Bitch.”

\---

They have dinner on Saturday night, takeaway from Taylor's favorite Thai place. Harry makes sure to top up everyone's wine glass, and it's not long before Taylor's giggly and flushed and says an emphatic "Yes, pleaase!" when Harry suggests they all take a dip in the hot tub.

She stops laughing when Harry works up her courage and slides over to Ed's side of the hot tub, reaching to drape his pale freckly arm around her shoulder. Ed laughs, giving her a sideways look.

"What, are you cold?"

"No," Harry says, feeling oddly like she's about to break into giddy laughter. "Just, like. We should, I dunno."

She makes eye contact with Taylor. Taylor's staring back, a little glassy-eyed.

"We could hang out," she says, swallowing. Taylor blinks. Her cheeks are pink from the heat, sweat damp and shining at her temples. Harry squirms in the steaming water, wanting to touch her. "We could, like, um. It could be fun."

"Jesus," Ed says, low, but he doesn't protest when Harry turns his head with one hand and presses a kiss to his mouth.

"Jeesus," Ed mumbles again, reaching for her, and Harry steels herself and goes for it, slides onto Ed's lap and leans down to snog him, get things started. "Shit, alright."

Harry hears a splash of water behind her, and her grip tightens on Ed's jaw, anticipating Taylor's hands on her. Except- the water splashes again, and then she hears footsteps, and she turns away from Ed's mouth to see Taylor clambering out of the tub, face turned away.

"Taylor-"

"Have fun," Taylor chokes out, practically running up the steps.

"Taylor!"

Harry scrambles off Ed's lap in a flail of limbs and water, gets out of the tub as fast as she can.

"Haz, just leave it, c’mon," Ed says, sounding put-out, but Harry doesn't give a shit about what he thinks. It was never about him. Oh _god_ , Harry's fucked it up.

"Taylor!" she calls, when she steps through the back door, dripping everywhere, breathless, still dizzy and drunk. She squeezes her hair out onto the rug, tiptoes over the wooden floor and makes her way up the stairs, bare feet squelching on each step.

Taylor's bedroom is locked.

"Taylor," Harry says, putting the flat of her hand to the cool door. "Please. Please open the door."

Nothing.

Harry pounds her hand against the door, then rests her forehead against it, letting out a heavy breath. "Taylor! Let me - let me explain, alright, _please_. Just open the bloody door."

"Just go away, Harry," Taylor says, voice muffled and thick.

"Please. Please let me explain-"

The door opens suddenly and Harry nearly falls over.

Taylor's standing there in a giant t-shirt, sticking to her wet body. Her eyes are red, and she crosses an arm defensively over her chest.

"What?" she snaps.

"Just- just listen," Harry says.

"I'm listening. Talk."

"I- uh. I didn't mean to, like- just listen. It was - it was just meant to be fun."

"It wasn't fun," Taylor spits.

"I know. I know, I'm sorry."

"Sorry I haven't done everything you've done, Harry," Taylor says, her cheeks damp and flushed. "Sorry I'm not out having threesomes with all my friends, or - or whatever. _God_ , Harry, you should've just told me if you liked him. You should've told me."

"It wasn't even about Ed!" Harry bursts out, and she stops dead. Swallows.

Taylor stares at her, eyes dark. Harry drags in a breath, tries to focus.

"You and him are - like. He fancies you, and you fancy him-"

"No I don't," Taylor says, nose wrinkling. "He's my best friend. We don't all sleep with our best friends."

"It wasn't meant to be about him," Harry says, breathing hard. She scrapes a hand through her hair. "Listen, alright?"

"This is so twisted," Taylor says, jaw clenching. "Say what you mean, Harry, _god_. Stop playing games."  

"Fine," Harry breathes, before she takes a step forward and kisses her. Taylor's mouth is wet and hot and she smells like chlorine and for a minute her lips open and Harry's tongue slips in, and everything's bloody perfect. For a minute Taylor's kissing her back, her hands shaking at her sides while Harry strokes her smooth cheek with one thumb, and then-

Taylor pushes her away and takes one step backward, eyes huge. Then another.

"Whoa," she says, voice hoarse. "Harry-"

"I don't care about him," Harry says. Shit, she's going to cry, her voice going rusty. She sniffs in hard. "I- I don't. Not him."

Taylor's staring at her, and her face is going soft with something like pity, and Harry can't fucking _stand_ it.

"Harry," she says again, sounding regretful. "I. I don't- I love you, you know that, but I don't, like, feel that way. About- you."

Harry sobs, thick and drunk, so big that it shakes her body.

"Oh - shit, Harry," Taylor mutters, and then she's putting her arms around her, warm and solid. Harry mashes her face into Taylor's neck, miserable. "Shh. Don't cry, okay?"

"I'm sorry," Harry chokes out, and it feels like she's saying sorry for- fancying girls. For who she is. It feels _awful_. She sobs again, and Taylor pulls her in closer.

"Shh, shh," she murmurs. "Don't cry. It's okay."

"I didn't mean to- to - with Ed, I mean, I didn't-"

"It's okay," Taylor whispers. "Just breathe, okay?"

Harry sucks in a breath, her cheek to Taylor's shoulder. Taylor's rubbing her back, in long slow sweeps.

"I'm sorry," Harry says, a bit more clearly. She coughs.

Taylor pats her back, pulls away.

"Hey," she says, tipping Harry's chin up. "Let's dry off and make hot chocolate and watch something dumb on Netflix."

Harry blinks at her. Taylor smiles, raises her eyebrows.

"Okay?"

"What about Ed?" Harry says pitifully, and for some reason they both crack up. Taylor cackles like a witch, Harry staggering towards her to laugh into her collarbone.

"Oh my god," Taylor laughs. "Oh my god, poor Ed. Is he still in the hot tub?"

"All pruney by now," Harry chokes out.

"Sad and alone. We're so mean to Ed. Here, you go rinse off, I'll go talk to him, okay? Meet in the kitchen in twenty. Cool?"

"Cool," Harry says, throat clenching, and Taylor lets out another laugh and shuts the bedroom door behind her.

She rinses the chlorine off in Taylor's massive marble shower, wriggles into her knickers and bra and then into a pair of Taylor's pyjamas, pink fleece with fluffy white sheep on them. It's almost funny, already. Like sad but funny. A _threesome_. That was Harry's master plan, a bloody threesome. Nick'll laugh when Harry tells her.

She pads downstairs, stepping over pools of chlorine water from where she dripped before. The front door shuts and Harry freezes, and then exhales when Taylor steps back through the entryway, alone.

"Called him a cab," she says, wiping her hands together and smiling. "Don't worry about it. C'mon, I'm like actually craving hot chocolate now. Why is it so cold? We're in LA. It's just wrong."

Harry huffs a laugh and follows her into the kitchen.

\---

Later, in bed, Taylor mutes _Casablanca_ and turns to Harry.

"So," she says, a glint in her eye. "Are you, like. Do you like girls? Only girls, I mean?"

Harry looks up drowsily. "Both. Girls and boys, I mean."

"Okay." Taylor looks determined. "Am I the first girl you've, uh. You know. Kissed?"

Harry looks away from her.

"No," she says.

"Okay. Okay. Well, duh. You've done everything."

Harry breathes out a sour laugh.

"Not, like- that sounded bad. I didn't mean it in a bad way." Taylor tucks her knee up to her chest. "Who - who was it?"

"Who was what." Harry stares at the telly screen, the movie still playing silently. Why'd Taylor mute it but not pause it? Who does that?  

"The girl - girls, I guess. Whoever. Who you've like, kissed? Or whatever?"

Harry swallows, fumbles for a pillow to pull over her chest.

"Just my friend," she says. "Her name's Nick."

"Wait," Taylor says slowly. "Nick _Grimshaw_? From the BBC? I've done a couple interviews with her."

Harry nods, sticking her face into the pillow.

"Wow."

Harry misses Nick, suddenly. Nick never asks questions like this. She just gets it. She gets who Harry is, and she gets when Harry wants to talk about it and when she doesn't, and she gets why it all has to be a secret.

Harry drags in a wobbly breath, puts her head on Taylor's shoulder.

"Nick and I, it wasn't just- it wasn't just hooking up," she says, voice small.

Taylor makes a sympathetic sound, and Harry shuts her eyes.

"We sort of decided to, like, not - do it while I'm away from London," she mumbles.

"Always a dumb idea," Taylor says wisely. "You can't make yourself stop loving someone just because you're not in the same place. Even if it's hard long distance, you have to try it. Fight it out. If it lasts, it's real."

Harry wants to defend herself, but she bites her tongue. _Loving someone_. Shit.

She exhales slowly, and Taylor pets her head.

"Are you in love with her?" she asks, voice hushed.

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry mumbles, nuzzling into her neck. She resists the urge to bite down, put teethmarks in Taylor's soft pale skin. "Turn the film back on."

Taylor sighs heavily, and reaches for the remote.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Harry flies back to London after two weeks, takes a car straight to Nick’s flat. Nick opens the door with a grin already starting to curl at the side of her mouth and Christ, Harry needs her right the hell now.

“Hi,” she says, bouncing on her heels.

“Hiya.”

“You, uh, been alright? Can I come in?” Harry unzips her hoodie, slowly, just enough to give Nick a peek.

“Chriiist." Nick grins hot, pulls her inside. "Shut up and come here.”

"Mmm," Harry breathes ten minutes later, the tea Nick started making left scattered on the kitchen counter, forgotten. Nick's got her pressed up against the wall, gently cupping the weight of her breasts, thumbing over Harry's nipples through her thin bra. Harry's trembling, standing on her tiptoes, wanting Nick's fingers or her fast-talking mouth between her legs. Or maybe on her nipples. She can't decide.

"Ni-ick," she whines.

Nick looks up from her careful study of Harry's chest. "Hmm?"

Harry looks pointedly down at herself. Then up at Nick. "Eat me?"

"Oh, you fucking brat," Nick murmurs. "Think I'm fucking up for it all the time, do you. Think I sit in my bloody flat waiting for Harry Styles to show up and grace me with her cunt."

Harry laughs, as Nick tickles her fingers over Harry's tits over her shirt. Her nipples are hard, and Nick takes one between two fingers, twists gently.

Harry squeaks. "Nick, fuck."

"You're the one who showed up here all eager, straight from the airport," Nick says, leaning in to brush a kiss against Harry's neck, and Harry's eyes flutter shut with pleasure. She _is_ eager. She wants it, and Nick knows how much, and that’s so stupidly hot for some reason. "Go on, greedyguts. Me first."

Harry's not quite sure if Nick's taking the mick, but she slides down to her knees anyway, fumbles for the zip of Nick's skinny jeans. She pulls them down Nick's pale thighs, breathes in the scent of her, thick and musky. There's a puff of soft dark curls between her legs. Harry presses her cheek to it, sighs. It smells like Nick. It's been a while.

"Get to it, love," Nick breathes, sliding her hands into Harry's hair, and Harry nudges Nick's lips apart and slides her tongue against Nick's clit. Nick gasps.

Harry knows how Nick likes it. She pretends she's all civilized, pretends she doesn't like it messy, and then she comes lavishly, hard, clenching on Harry's tongue when Harry really goes at it.

So Harry does. Christ, Nick smells so fucking good, tastes so good. She buries her face between Nick's legs, licks a long stripe up from her cunt to her clit, tapping her tongue against it to hear Nick whimper. Harry grins into the heat of her, and hears Nick curse softly, fist her hands in Harry's hair. The pain makes Harry shiver happily.

"Tease," Nick whispers. "Get me off."

Harry does her best.

By the time she's done Nick's knees are buckling and she looks fucked-out, eyes glazed. Her chest is rising and falling with each breath.

Harry looks up, breathing hard. She can feel Nick's slick on her mouth and chin and Nick lets out a hard breath when Harry licks slowly at the corners of her mouth, savoring it.

"Guess I was a bit eager," she says sweetly, right before she leans back in to suck at Nick's swollen clit. Nick yelps, goes to push Harry's face away, ends up stroking her forehead instead, hands trembling as Harry slips her tongue down and inside her, licking at the taste of Nick's orgasm.

"Alright," Nick says, voice rough. "Al _right_ , Harry, that's enough."

Harry stumbles back, a heavy throb between her legs. Her tongue feels thick and dumb in her mouth, and when she presses a hand against her cunt she moans. She needs something. Mouth, fingers. _Something_.

"Nick-"

"Go get in bed," Nick says, zipping up her jeans. "I'm old, I'm not getting down on my knees on tile for some greedy little popstar."

Harry staggers up to her feet, nearly stumbling. Nick catches her weight with an _oof_ , sneaks a grope of Harry's tits, over the shirt and mostly innocent, but Harry's really _really_ sensitive, and she shudders hard.

"Bed," Nick says, leaning forward to kiss Harry's sticky bottom lip. "Go on."

Harry goes.

Nick takes _ages_. Harry strips herself bare, wriggling out of her bra and tossing it in the laundry basket. She crawls between Nick's fluffy duvet and her soft sheets, quivering with anticipation.

Nick comes in slowly, peering at her phone. She looks up.

"What're you waiting for, hm?" she says. "You look impatient."

Harry just tugs the duvet down until her chest is exposed, full and heaving as she breathes, nipples hard and tight. Nick always responds better to a visual than just straight-up begging.

Nick's throat bobs in a swallow.

"Can I fuck you?" she asks, dragging a hand through her hair, not taking her eyes off Harry's tits.

Harry clenches her legs together and nods. Fuck, she does miss dick sometimes. It's been ages since she had it - well, weeks - but it's been way longer since she's had _Nick's_. Which is - different.

Nick crawls into bed on her hands and knees, still dressed, to press a kiss to Harry's mouth and then her neck, roll her palm over the hard nub of Harry's nipple until Harry whimpers.

"Good," Nick says. "You wet for me?"

"Yeah," Harry gasps out. "Shit. Please. C'mon, Nick."

Nick grins at her, kisses her again. "Be patient, Haz."

She turns away, and Harry pulls the duvet right up to her neck, feels herself trembling like a leaf. She runs a hand down onto her belly, between her legs. Touches the slick heat of her cunt and swallows hard as she waits.

She watches as Nick strips down. Nick's pale and freckled all over, legs long and thin, arse small and soft no matter how many spin classes she goes to. Broad shoulders, hair brushing against her collarbone, longer than the last time they fucked. Little tits - Harry's mouth goes wet at the sight of Nick's tits, the soft pink tips of them.  

Nick notices her watching and laughs self-consciously, rubbing at the hair between her legs. "Stop starin' at me."

"Come over and fuck me then."

"All in good time, Styles, all in good time," she chides, leaning over to rummage through a drawer. And then - ah, yeah, there it is. The first time they did this Harry thought it'd be nothing special, since God knows she'd taken enough dick.

It was, though. Special. When Nick lined up just right Harry could feel it in her stomach, and Nick rubbed her nipple and kissed her neck with teeth, and it was all so fucking hot Harry came just from that, not a single touch to her clit.

Nick turns around, tugging at the buckle of the strap-on with her tongue between her teeth. "Shit, it won't-"

"Here, lemme," Harry says, sitting up in bed. Nick laughs, and sticks her hip out so Harry can fix the twisted strap, do up the buckle.

"There," Harry says, patting at Nick's belly. "Now hurry the fuck _up_ , c'mon."

Nick shakes her head. She does that a lot around Harry, but she never really means no, Harry's found.

"How about you ride it," Nick suggests, dark eyebrow raising, stroking her hand down the length of the dildo.

Harry considers it. Mm, bouncing in Nick's lap might be fun. But she's jetlagged and knackered, and her knees ache from the kitchen floor. She just wants to lie back and get fucked.

"Hmmm," she says. "What 'bout on my back?"

Nick narrows her eyes. "Lazy arse."

Harry shrugs, falls backward to sprawl on the bed, spreading her legs. She just got waxed last week in LA, and she watches with satisfaction as Nick stares at her cunt like it is indeed the Second Coming. See, Harry's ego is all Nick's fault.

"Like this," Harry says, stretching an arm above her head. "Fuck me like a man, Grimshaw. Missionary."

Nick shudders comically, pulling a face, and then knees her way onto the bed. The dildo bounces along with her, thick and weirdly navy-blue. Harry wonders how they choose dildo colors. Are there certain colors that make people, like, turned-on? Is it about being gender-neutral? Cos technically strap-ons can be used on _anyone_ , right, like for boys they could get fucked in the arse, or-

"Harry," Nick says, knelt between her legs, one hand sliding up the soft inside of Harry's thigh. "Don't go off in your head."

"I'm here, I'm here."

"Good," Nick says, looming over her with a hungry expression, and then her knee slips on a bit of pillowcase and she falls over, the dildo jamming into the soft of Harry's stomach.

"Ow, fuck!" Harry yelps. Nick moans, lifting her head.

"Sorry," she says sheepishly.

Harry rubs her sore belly, wincing.

"Oh calm down," Nick says, already over apologizing. She strokes her palm over the curve of Harry's stomach, pinches the flesh between her finger and thumb. "You love the pain, Styles, don't lie."

Harry flushes pink. "Not that kind."

"Oh, but a different kind, hmm?" Nick says, laughing as she scoops one of Harry's legs up over her arm, leans down to breathe hot against her cunt. She keeps talking, though, of course, because she's Nick. Her voice is muffled from between Harry's thighs. "Who would've thought you'd be all kinky about that sort of thing. Wait, what am I saying, _everybody_ thought that."

"Hey," Harry says breathlessly, scooting down the bed til she's closer to Nick's mouth. "I mean, we haven't even tried- _oh_."

Her thighs clench down around Nick's shoulders. "God. Nick, god, don't - don't stop-"

Nick eats her out til she's proper wet and quivery, and then slides inside, pushing nice and slow on the first thrust, making Harry exhale shakily. God, that's good.

"You do like that, don't you," Nick whispers, hair hanging down to brush Harry's face as she works her hips. "Hopelessly into dick, you are."

"Yeah, that's me, 100% straight," Harry gasps, and Nick bites her lip, then gently kisses her open mouth while Harry moans. She thrusts her hips hard til the toy's buried deep inside, and Harry clenches around every inch of it.

" _Good_ girl," she whispers, when Harry groans again, arching her back. "Touch yourself for me, go on, that's a good girl."

Harry spreads her legs wider, settles into the feeling of it, reaching down to rub her clit with shaky fingers.

"Good?" Nick murmurs.

"Yeah, fuck. Really good."

Nick grins down at her. "Eat me out again after?"

Harry whimpers out a yes.

"Maybe I'll sit on that very pretty face of yours," Nick says, tracing one finger over Harry's face, down to her lips. She tugs at the skin, twists it and lets go. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, lazy arse."

Harry's face is so hot. She nods.

Nick kisses Harry's neck, works her hips deep until Harry's keening with it. When she pulls out Harry feels like she's gone cross-eyed with pleasure, and she can't stop rubbing her clit, hand frantic and fast, the sound of it wet and obscene.

"Mm, course you would," Nick sighs.

Harry gasps. "Anything you want."

"Aww, love." Nick smiles at her, pats her belly gently. "Be a good girl and come for me while I fuck you, yeah? That's what I want."

Harry bites her lip so she won't moan, nods. Nick's dark eyes crinkle happily and she rocks back inside her, easy and slow.

\---

Nick's alarm goes off at ten to five on Monday morning, and Harry groans, offended.

"Shut that _off_ ," she mumbles, and it turns right off. Lovely. Harry hums happily, sinks back into the pillows, just as she feels Nick's mouth on her neck.

She opens her eyes halfway, huffing out a rough laugh at the tickle of Nick's lips. "You've got work."

"Set the alarm early," Nick says, leaning over her, naked, eyes dark. She trails her fingers down Harry's neck, down to her bare chest, circling around her nipple, tightening under her touch.

"Nick-"

"Shh-sh." Nick kisses her nipple, and the swell of her stomach, and then she disappears under the duvet and Harry feels hot breath against the juncture of thigh and cunt. She's still soft and loose from sleep, and she moans low when Nick runs her thumb up the length of her pussy, follows it with her tongue.

Harry splays her legs wider, back arching. Nick's mouth is wet and soft, and she always knows exactly how to- to-

"God, _fuck_ , Nick!" she chokes out, when Nick licks at her clit, over and over, pushing against it with her hot tongue. "Nick, Nick, fucking-"

Nick's hands spread her further, and then - ah, god. Two fingers hooking inside her, long and clever, stretching her out. Rubbing against the walls of her while Nick's tongue stays on her clit until Harry's whimpering, trying not to close her thighs around Nick's head.

She has to fist her hands in the sheets when Nick adds a third finger, deep inside, and then slips them all out at once, leaving Harry clenching around nothing. She feels empty and quivery and hot and Nick strokes her thighs for a minute, breathing against her pussy and kissing her lips gently like they've got all the time in the world.

"Nick," Harry murmurs, squirming in the sheets. "C'monnn."

Nick says something, muffled under the duvet. Harry lifts it up, and Nick looks up, eyes dark and hungry. Her chin's wet, lips swollen. Harry wants to kiss her, and she wants Nick's tongue on her again.

"You've got work," Harry whispers. "Hurry up."

Nick rolls her eyes, and lowers her head again, and Harry drops the duvet again, head rolling back as she moans happily. _There_ it is. Nick's so sweet when she doesn't tease.  

She's shaking when Nick's done with her, legs trembling, and she folds the duvet down as Nick comes up for air, sucking at her wet fingers, hair all matted down on one side of her head.

"Dirty," Harry says, grinning. Nick pulls a face at her around two fingers, licks them with a flourish.

"You taste good," she says, swallowing. "And now I have to go to work, because life is unfair."

"Lemme just-" Harry plucks at the waistband of Nick's knickers.

"No, no, no," she says, tugging Harry's hands away. "Shower. Work. Responsibilities."

Harry flops back down into bed with a groan.

"I'm the one who's hurting here, you lazy little cow," Nick says, climbing out of bed and shrugging off her knickers, tossing them in the vague direction of the hamper.  

"Thanks for getting me off, Nicola!" Harry calls after her, and the toilet door swings shut with a bang. Harry snorts and shuts her eyes.

She wakes back up when Nick bends over her for a goodbye kiss. Her hair's wet, curling on her neck, and she smells so good Harry groans a little, inhaling her.

"Have a nice lie-in, brat," Nick says, stroking Harry's hair behind her ear.

"Have a nice show," Harry says sleepily, eyes fluttering shut.

Nick runs her hand down to Harry's chest, rolls her palm over her nipple. Harry whines, putting her hand over Nick's wrist.

"Nick," she breathes.

"My cab's here," Nick murmurs.

"Go t'work then."

Nick stares down at her.

"Nothing," she whispers, leaning down to breathe against Harry's neck. "Is better than your cunt in the morning, Harry Styles. Fucking delicious."

Harry shudders hotly, and Nick kisses her ear.

" _Nick_ ," Harry repeats, dumbly. She wants Nick to skip work. She wants to keep Nick in bed, get her face between Nick's legs. She wants Nick to never fucking leave again.

"See you soon," Nick says, low and soft, before she turns away, tucking her hair behind her ears.

Harry sits up in bed to watch her go. Nick's arse in black skinny jeans, _Christ_. Harry exhales hard.

The bedroom door shuts, and Harry puts her face in Nick's pillow.

\---

The week in London passes too quick, and it's clogged with tour rehearsals and meetings. Before Harry can blink, it's their O2 shows tomorrow, and then the long stretch of tour.

She stays in Nick's bed until she can't anymore, until the very last minute. At half-one in the morning, the night before their first London show, Nick wanders in with cups of tea and a half-empty pack of biscuits, crawling into bed and passing them over. She's wearing a giant Dr. Dre t-shirt and navy knickers that Harry's pretty sure are hers.

"Cheers," Harry says morosely, grabbing a Jaffa Cake.

"Stop pouting," Nick says, taking a sip of tea. "Anyone would think you're going off to war, not to go play a tour to millions of adoring fans. Chin up."  

Harry scooches up in bed til her back's to the wall, stuffs the rest of the biscuit into her mouth. Nick kicks at her ankle gently.

"It'll be brilliant."

Harry knows it will. She knows how good it'll feel the second she steps on stage. Doesn't make her less sad to leave.

"So, Europe for a month, and then the States?" Nick says, business-like, like she's Harry's manager and wasn't eating her out an hour ago.

"Yeah," Harry mumbles.

"I can't wait for tomorrow night. Kate and Sadie are gonna bring the kids, make a whole night of it. I'll throw my knickers at you and everything."

Harry bites down a smile. "Liam'll probably think they're for him."

"No, he won't, cos I'm gonna write _For Harriet Styles_ on one side and then _from a biiiig lesbian_ on the other."

Harry snorts. "Can't wait."

"You alright, love?" Nick says quietly. "You're sounding even more morbid than usual."

Harry nods, too many times, and takes another Jaffa Cake.

"Just," she says, mouth full. She swallows. "Just, like. I dunno. I wish you could come with me. On tour."

Nick raises an eyebrow. "Do I look like a groupie, Styles?"

"Liam- Liam's gonna have Danielle fly out for a while. Like a week. I just-"

"But who'd wake up the nation?" Nick slides her arms around Harry's shoulders, rocks her back and forth. "If I could, I would, love. But I don't exactly get much time off."

"When's your next holiday?"

Nick sighs. "May. But I've already got plans. Doing Ibiza with Sadie and Mairead and them."

Harry bites her lip, and Nick squeezes her shoulders, lets her go, settling back into bed and crossing her legs.

"Plus," she says, reaching for her tea. "It's one thing to pal around in London, but people'll start talking if you fly me out to bloody America or wherever."

Harry shrugs. "And?"

"And I thought-" Nick sips her tea again. "Thought you didn't exactly want everyone knowing you're into pussy."

Harry can't look at her. She studies the thread on her worn-in boxer shorts.

"Haz?"

"Never mind," she says, something hot in her throat. "You don't have to come visit."

"Love, it's not that I don't want to-"

"Pass me my tea please?" she says curtly, before Nick can finish her sentence.

Nick goes quiet and passes it over. Harry takes a deep gulp, and pulls Nick back down into bed.

"Get the light?" she murmurs.

Nick reaches over silently to flick the lamp off. She kisses back when Harry finds her mouth in the dark, puts her tongue between her parted lips. They don't talk again for a long while.

\---

"I mean, I did fancy Serena Williams for a while, but everyone fancies her," Niall says thoughtfully, as they sprawl over Harry’s bed in a hotel somewhere outside Munich. "God, she could crush me with her thighs."

"Sounds pretty gay,"  Harry says, not looking up from her phone.

"Does it? Does Nick ever crush you with her thighs? Nick's got tiny thighs, she couldn't crush a fly." Niall sounds way too amused by the idea.

"Says ol' stick-legs over here," Harry snorts, and Niall kicks her.

"Sod off. I've been doing squats, alright, I'm gonna have an arse on me like Kim Kardashian."

"Kim is fit," Harry says, scrolling down her Instagram feed.

"She is fit," Niall agrees readily. "I kinda fancy Kendall. She's got a really mean face. But in a good way."

Harry looks over at her. Niall's got her head in one hand, staring dreamily into space.

"You are a bit gay, Ni," Harry says, reaching out to pat her back. "It's alright."

Niall sighs, and rolls over closer to her.

"Is it like… different, though?" she asks. "I mean. To actually properly be with a girl."

"Different than what?"

Niall snorts. "Different than eating chocolate cake, Haz. Different than a _bloke_. Duh."

Harry shrugs, goes onto her side facing Niall. Niall's eyes dip down to her chest, and something pulses in Harry's stomach. Oh. _Oh_.

"It's different," Harry says, quietly. "It's like… softer."

Niall's throat moves in a swallow. "Softer?"

"Like, eating pussy versus sucking someone off, it's just - softer. Wetter."

She wants to grin, something pushing up happily in her chest, but she can't give it away. Niall's skittish. Easy but skittish. If Harry gets smug Niall'll roll her eyes and fuck off.

Niall clears her throat. She's starting to go pink, up on her cheekbones. "Blokes can be wet."

"Yeah, yeah, but like. With a girl, it's like. Just. Messy."

"Does it taste good?" Niall asks, voice giving the tiniest crack.

Harry licks her lips involuntarily. "It's good. It's - different."

Niall nods, looking dazed. She puts her head on her hand, lets out a sigh.

"I'm like a bit turned on," she says bluntly, and Harry chokes a laugh. "Does that make me a lesbian?"

Harry shrugs again, reaches out to brush a piece of blonde hair off Niall's pink cheek. She leaves her hand against Niall's neck, Niall's pulse going rabbit-fast under Harry's fingers.

"Nah," Harry says. "D'you want to snog a bit?"

Niall goes bright red.

"Yeah," she says, wobbly. "Alright."

Harry snorts softly, and leans in. Niall's mouth is soft - she always likes that about girls, how their mouths are softer - and she tastes like beer. She opens her lips straightaway and Harry licks inside. Niall makes a soft sound, flops down onto her back and lets Harry crawl on top of her, and god, that's nice.

Niall slides a hand onto Harry's arse, fingers inching up under her shorts. Harry pulls away, laughing, Niall flushed and heavy-eyed beneath her.

"Cheeky arse-grope, Horan," Harry murmurs, before she presses her mouth against Niall's jaw.

Niall huffs a laugh. "You love it."

Harry rolls her hips against Niall, long and slow, lets Niall feel her weight. Niall's next exhale is shaky.

"Yeah, I do," Harry breathes, before she kisses Niall again.

When Niall's starting to whine, to wrap her legs around Harry's thigh, Harry takes pity on her and slides down to eat her cunt. Niall tastes good. Feels good. The skin of her inner thighs is so pale and her cunt is flushed a sweet dark pink, soft and giving under Harry's mouth. She comes almost immediately once Harry starts really rubbing over her clit with her thumb, alternating it with swipes of her tongue that leave Niall kicking and cursing. Who knew she was so easy?

"Gngh, god," she chokes, skinny legs twitching, belly heaving. "Oh, fuckin' Christ."

Harry lifts Niall's thigh up over her shoulder and leans in again, hooking two fingers inside her.

"Harry, god, _fuck_ -" Niall whimpers. "You- you twat, you're gonna kill me-"

Harry looks up, licking at the corner of her mouth. "You want me to stop?"

Niall pounds her hand against the bed. "Well, no, don't bloody _stop_ -"

The words trail off into a groan when Harry lowers her head again, and Harry can't keep from laughing.

\---

They head to Los Angeles for a week before the U.S. leg, and Harry opts out of a hotel and stays at Taylor's. It's fun for two days, and then Harry's entirely ready for a proper night out.

Too ready, maybe, she realizes, when she wakes up hungover on an unfamiliar leather sofa the next morning, head pounding.

She sits up slowly, wipes her hand over her face. It comes back spotted with rusty flakes of blood. Urgh. She winces, blows her nose into a tissue.

She'd only done coke once before, with Nick, in a dark club in East London over the summer. It made her buzzy, sharp, grabbing at Nick's shirt frantically whenever Nick moved away from her in the crowd. Nick eventually stayed put, put her arms around Harry's shoulders, rocked her back and forth while Harry babbled in her ear about their latest tour and if they should go for arenas next time and on and on and on. She sincerely hopes she wasn't that embarrassing last night.

There's a pile of post on the coffee table, and she picks up an envelope. _Jeffrey Azoff_. Oh, thank god, she's just at Jeff's. She's never been to his place, but they met the last time she was in Los Angeles, and he's a good bloke. Seems like the nonjudgmental type. And the non-murdery type.

Footsteps creak down the stairs, and Harry sits up, pulling her dress up over her chest.

It's Jeff. He's in a pair of blue boxers, eyes scrunched sleepily.

He waves, yawning. "Morning, Harry."

"Morning," Harry says, watching as a girl pads down the stairs behind him, in just a sheer white t-shirt and minuscule denim shorts. She has long dark hair, fawn-colored skin, and Harry tugs at her dress again, waves at her sheepishly. She's sure this girl's never woken up on an unfamiliar sofa with blood on her upper lip.

"Hi," the girl says, smiling tightly, before she leans around to kiss Jeff's mouth. "Call me?"

"Yeah, totally."

When she walks out, kicking on her flip-flops, they both watch her go. Her legs are fucking incredible. They remind Harry of Nick's, except tan and smooth instead of white and freckly.

"Nice," Harry says to herself, as Jeff yawns again, turning to go into his massive kitchen.

"Hm?"

"She's, uh, seems nice," Harry says, picking herself up from the sofa. Oh shit, her head hurts. "Sorry I, uh, slept over. I was a bit fucked-up."

"No worries, last night was crazy." Jeff smiles at her. They'd had a good conversation the night before, if Harry's remembering correctly. About… Spotify? Pandora? Summat like that. Music sharing. Digital media. Harry bullshitted a lot, and Jeff looked impressed. Looked at her tits a few times too.

Harry tugs her bra up, follows Jeff into the kitchen.

"I want breakfast," Jeff says, flicking the coffeemaker on. "Uuuugh. Why the fuck don't I buy food?"

"What've you got?"

"Nothing. Ketchup, maybe. Some hot sauce. Shit."  

Harry snorts. "You're a bloody baby, mate."

"Awright, _mate_ , shut up," Jeff says, laughing. "Be more British, Styles."

Harry yanks open his fridge. "What the hell are you talking about? You've got eggs."

"Check the sell-by," Jeff says. "Because I don't remember buying those. Rosa might've, though."

"Is that the girl?" Harry asks, picking up the egg carton. "Who, uh, slept over?"

Jeff snorts. "No. That's - Tricia. Trina? Something with a T. Talia, maybe, I'd have to check my contacts. Anyway. Rosa's my housekeeper."

Harry turns around to look at him incredulously. "You've got a housekeeper."

"Don't look so shocked," Jeff says, bored, waving her off with one hand. "Everyone has one."

Harry rolls her eyes, peering at the carton. "These are fresh. Enough. And look, you've got cheese. Smoked gouda, nice. And bread- ooh, challah. Mm."

"Do I seriously have challah?" Jeff says, one eyebrow raising. "Jesus Christ. Rosa's so culturally sensitive."

Harry snorts. "Mate, I'm making breakfast."

"I can order in-"

"No. That's ridiculous. Tell me you've got a pan."

"To the... right of the sink? I think?"

Harry finds butter in the fridge, slices a knob off and drops it into the pan, turning the stove on with a flick of her wrist.

Jeff pours coffee into two mugs, comes to watch her hesitantly, like she's defusing a bomb instead of making eggs.

"You cook?" he says, leaning against the counter. "I can't believe this. You seem so rockstar and then you _cook_."

Harry scrunches her nose at him. "Sorry for disappointing you."

Jeff sniffs the butter, sizzling gently. "Not disappointed. Not at all."

Harry bites down a grin. "Make me coffee and I'll give you eggs."

Jeff pushes the mug over, and Harry shakes her head. "Two sugars and a splash of cream, thanks very much."

"Shit, no clue if I have cream. Is that half and half? Are those different? Or like, the stuff you make whipped cream out of?" Jeff bends down to rifle through the fridge, picks up a carton of milk and sniffs it. "Two percent's gonna have to do."

Harry shrugs. She mostly just wanted to see if he'd try.

They sit at the counter side by side, legs swinging. Harry tears off an edge of challah toast with her teeth, butter dripping onto the plate. God, it's good. It's softening the edge of her hangover, quieting her empty stomach.

Jeff looks at her over his coffee mug.

"My grandma would fucking love you," he says.

Harry wrinkles her nose. "S'that a compliment?"

Jeff laughs, white teeth flashing. He ducks his head. "Yeah. She hates everyone I bring home. Says they don't know how to eat."

Harry raises an eyebrow.

"And you can cook, too, like," he says, going pink in the cheeks. "You'd hit it off. Probably give you her top-secret recipe for rugelach."

"Ben's mum made that for me once," Harry says. "Was good. Didn't like the raisins, though."

"Ugh, me neither. Chocolate's where it's at." Jeff forks a giant bite of eggs into his mouth. "You ever had gefilte fish?"

"Ooh, yeah, I loved it."

"Seriously? No one likes that shit other than my dad and other old Jewish dudes with weird taste."

"It was good!"

Jeff arches an eyebrow. "You're practically a member of the tribe, Styles. That's an acquired taste. My grandma would love you even more."

"What's her number? Sounds like we should meet."

She says it deadpan, and Jeff actually checks to see if she's serious. He rolls her eyes when she starts laughing, elbows her gently in the side.

It's sort of nice, to have a friend who she's not fucking. Jeff's cool, and it's casual, and maybe Harry can just - keep it that way.

But then again. Maybe not.

Because that night she gets drunk, and Jeff gets drunk, and instead of going out, they decide to stay in.

It takes them about fifteen minutes to start snogging, and another five for Harry to get her top off, and then she's on Jeff's lap, and things don't feel all that casual. Harry's not too put-out about it. Jeff's buttoned-up in a way that makes her want to watch his face as he comes, and most friendships are improved with the addition of sex, she's found.

Harry shivers when he slides his big hands up to her hips, grips tight.

"Hope you're not thinking about your grandma right now," she says, laughing against his cheek, head spinning.

Jeff laughs too, giving her hips a firm squeeze. "Yeah, not really."

Harry ducks down to kiss him. His mouth smells like lemon, his lips soft and well-kept, a contrast to his stubbly jaw. It's been a long time since she snogged a boy. Ed might've been the last, which is sort of gross.

He reaches up to grope her chest during, and she groans against his mouth.

"You like that?" he murmurs. "Jesus, your tits are - fuckin' incredible."

Harry's quite easy for a compliment, and for the thumb Jeff's dragging back and forth over her nipple. She moans, spreads her legs. Jeff's half-hard under her, dick hot through his jeans, and she- she missed that. She really bloody did.

"Wait," she says, when he starts to reach under her skirt. "Can we, uh, be in a bed?"

"We can go-" Jeff says, muffled where he's sucking a kiss against her neck. "- _anywhere_ you want."

Harry grins and pulls his face up to kiss, sucking his tongue until his hands clench around her waist.

"Upstairs then," she breathes, and he follows when she pulls him to his feet.

\---

They have a few days off, halfway through tour. Lou and Liam and Niall fly home, but Harry goes west, back to LA, falls back into bed with Jeff. They've been texting for the last month, and Harry's surprised at how happy she is to see him. It's just - easy, with him. He doesn't expect anything except a good time. It's exactly what she needs.

"That's cute," Harry says, peering at the Instagram photo Jeff's put up. He's maybe ten in the picture, all buck teeth and a wide smile, in khaki shorts and a faded AC/DC t-shirt that's too big for him. "Look at your little face, god."

"I know," Jeff says absently, as Harry pats his feet where they're lying in her lap. They've been sprawled out around Jeff's house all day, eating greasy takeaway and watching football. "I'm adorable."

Harry rolls her eyes.

"You gonna throw back, baby?" Jeff asks, digging his toes into her thigh. "Seeing as it's Thursday. C'mon, all the kids are doing it."

"You pick," Harry says, throwing her phone at him. He catches it with a laugh, swipes it open.

"Passcode?"

"2202," Harry says absently, turning the volume up on the football game. "Now shh. The Packers are getting murdered."

"Cuz they suck, baby."

She smacks his shin. "Shut it. And don't call me baby."

Jeff scrunches his nose at her, digging his head back into a pillow as he flicks through Harry's phone.

"So much black and white," he says, laughing. "You're so artsy."

Harry doesn't even look over at him. "I know."

Jeff snorts, and then chokes audibly, starts coughing. "Oh my god."

"What? Oh- _shit,_ fucking-" Harry groans as the telly switches to adverts, resists the urge to chuck the remote in frustration. She should get on the goddamn field, she'd be better than the lot of 'em today. "What?"

Jeff's holding out her phone so she can see, his face half-laughing, incredulous. Harry leans over.

Oh- oh shit. It's a photo of Nick, naked from the waist up, laughing in bed.

"Give me that," Harry snaps, grabbing her phone.

"Sorry," Jeff says. "Umm. You know her?"

Harry swallows hard, shoving her phone into her pocket. She could play it off, probably. Say it was a joke, or a photo Nick was sending her boyfriend that she asked Harry to look at first, or-

"She's my ex," she says, instead. It hovers awkwardly in the air. "Sort of."

"Ex…"

"Girlfriend. Sort of. We were - we were sort of just sleeping together, I guess." That's a painfully inadequate description, but Harry doesn't know how else to say it.

Jeff's quiet for a minute.

"Didn't know you were - um. Into girls."

Harry stares determinedly at the telly. "Yeah."

"Oh." Jeff goes quiet again. "So, like. You're what. Bi?"

Harry huffs out a breath. "I guess."

"What's her name? The - ex."

Harry thinks about Nick for a long minute, lets her mind cave in against a rush of memories. She swallows again. "Her name's Nick. Nicola."

Jeff hums.

"Is it bad if I think that's kinda hot?"

Harry's stomach clenches, and she forces herself to laugh. "Sod off, creepy."

She can feel Jeff watching her, and her skin prickles uncomfortably. She shoves Jeff's feet off her lap. "I have to piss."

"Wait, are you mad?"

"No," Harry says, very calmly. "I just have to use the toilet."

"You seem mad."

"Jesus Christ, I'm _not_ ," Harry says hotly. "I'll be right back."

She takes her phone with her, sits on the closed toilet and puts a hand over her face.

After a second she exhales, opens her phone. Finds the photo Jeff was looking at. Nick's mouth is open, teeth flashing, and her eyes are scrunched up and happy. Her nipples are hard from Harry's hands and mouth, and there's a lovebite on her neck, fresh and red. Fuck, Harry misses her. She bloody misses her.

Jeff's outside, waiting for her. Harry opens up a text, types with wobbly hands.

_Im coming back in three weeks and I want to see you x_

She hits Send, and then deletes the message from her phone, feeling queasily guilty. Though she shouldn't. She and Jeff aren't- a thing. They're just mates who fuck. There's a difference.

She stands up and flushes the toilet. As she's washing her hands her phone buzzes in the back pocket of her jeans, and she grabs for it with damp fingers. It's Nick.

_Let me know when you're in town_

Harry stares at it, and then wedges her phone back into her pocket and opens the toilet door.

Jeff's sitting up on the sofa, shoulders hunched as he peers at his phone. He looks up when Harry slides back in next to him.

"Sure you're not pissed off?"

"Yeah." Harry turns the volume up on the game. "Just don't be a prick about it."

Jeff scratches his jaw, knee jiggling. "Sorry. Wasn’t trying to be."

"And- and don't say anything to anyone, yeah?"

"Yeah, obviously. I won't. It's cool."

Harry nods, tucking her knee up to her chest.

Jeff puts an arm around her shoulders.

"The Packers suck," he whispers in her ear, and she snorts, shoves his thigh.

"Twat."

Jeff laughs, as Harry puts her head down on his shoulder, exhales slowly. He strokes a hand through her hair, and Harry shuts her eyes. Nick's text was - weird. Unenthused. Maybe she's tired.

Or maybe she's over it, and she doesn't want Harry anymore. Harry swallows down a hot lump, barely noticing where Jeff's starting to creep his hand onto her chest, pressing a kiss to her cheek and down towards her mouth. No. She'll just- she'll just finish up tour and get back to London. Everything works out when they see each other. If Harry knows anything, it's that.

\---

Three weeks later she finds out why Nick was so weird over text. She's seeing someone - a girl named Bryony, an up-and-coming actress with big tits and perfect skin and a film coming out at Sundance next year. Nick invites Harry out, the second night she's back in London, and the girl's there - wedged in between Daisy and Pixie at a booth, giggling like she's always been there.

People peel off one by one until it's just the three of them - Harry and Nick and Bryony. Harry's dead on her feet but she's stubborn and she'd rather pass out at the table than leave them alone.

"Need a fag," Nick says after a while, lifting the hand she's very obviously had on Bryony's upper thigh. Harry tries not to look. "Haz, love, you look knackered."

Harry tries to protest, but she yawns instead, so wide her jaw cracks.

"Go to sleep," Nick says gently, laughing. "Seriously. We can hang out later this week."

"No, I'm fine," Harry mumbles, and Nick rolls her eyes.

"Suit yourself, then," she says, scooting out of the booth, fumbling for the pack of cigarettes. "I'll be right back."

As soon as Nick's out of sight, Bryony digs out her phone and stares at it. Harry has the urge to do the same, but she'd rather judge her for being antisocial.

"So," she says pointedly. "How long have you and Nick been dating?"

Bryony looks up, eyebrows raising. "Er, we're not dating."

"Oh." Harry looks down at her drink. "Alright."

"Nick's, like, cool, you know?" Bryony sets her phone on the table, leans in to whisper, low enough Harry has to strain to hear. "Between you and me, I'm not really, like… into girls that much? But god, she gives good head, and she doesn't make me do it back, so."

Harry's blindsided, fingers clenching on her own thigh under the table. "Uhh-"

"Sorry." Bryony snorts. "That is so much more than you need to know. Forget I said that."

Harry can't speak. She reaches for her drink, hand wobbling.

"And, like, she keeps it quiet." Bryony leans away from her, smiling. "Drinking for free don't hurt either. She's like really into younger girls. Well, you probably know that, right, has she tried it out on you?"

Harry chokes a strained laugh. "No," she says, a shaky automatic lie.

Bryony sighs like she's bored, reaches back to tie up her long hair in a bun.

"Alright," she says, draining her drink. "Well, I'm filming early tomorrow, so. Tell her I had to go, will you?"

"Yeah," Harry says numbly.

"Super nice to meet you."

"You too."

"G'night."

"Night," Harry says. She watches Bryony leave, winding her way through the crowd. Someone catches Harry's eye, makes a face of dawning recognition, and Harry slides out of the booth. She's tipsy and not in the bloody mood to make nice with strangers.

What she should do is go home, sleep off the jetlag, but instead she follows Nick outside. Nick has a half-smoked fag between her lips and she's busy texting. She looks up when Harry creaks the door open.

"Hiya," she says, muffled, before she plucks the cigarette from her mouth with one hand. "Thought you were going to bed."

"I am," Harry says, leaning against the wall. "I will."

"Go home, Haz, go to sleep. Don't need to wait for me. Bry just texted and told me she had to go, so m'just gonna finish this and go to bed."

She exhales slowly, and Harry turns her head, coughing into her elbow, throat stinging.

Nick directs her next cloud of smoke away from Harry.

"So, Bryony," Harry says.

"Sweet, int she?" Nick says, and there's something warm in her voice, appreciative. Harry clenches her fists, inside the pockets of her leather jacket.

"Not really."

Nick looks over at her, one eyebrow raising. "Hm?"

"I don't think she's very sweet," Harry says plainly. She's got exactly no clue what she's doing, but she can't just - leave. She can't just leave without saying anything.

"Alright," Nick says bemusedly. "Well, I'm sorry?"

"She's using you," Harry blurts out. "Cos you won't tell anyone."

Nick looks over at her, slowly. There's a silence.

"Am I meant to be surprised by that?" Nick says eventually, blowing out a cloud of smoke. She smiles around the fag, tight and humorless.  

"Nick-"

"Cos you'd know something about that, wouldn't you? Using someone who can keep a secret."

" _Nick_ ," Harry says, jaw clenching. "It's not the same."

"Yeah, why not?"

"Because we, like. Love each other," Harry chokes out. "Loved, whatever."

Nick doesn't react, but when she lifts the fag next her hand's trembling a little.

"You must think I'm really bloody stupid," she says after a minute. "Least Bry knows what we are. Doesn't make it more than it is."

"Don't fucking lie about how you - you felt," Harry says. Her voice is wobbly. "Just cos you're angry at me-"

"I'm not angry at you!"

"Yes you are."

Nick shakes her head, looking away. "Not angry with you for leaving. You know I'm not like that, Haz, don't put words in my mouth."

"Bryony said you give good head and buy her drinks and keep your mouth shut," Harry says, voice cracking. She leaves out the part about younger girls. "She literally just said that, Nick."

Nick's eyes widen for a split second, and then she laughs lightly, face settling back into neutral. That split second, though. Harry saw it. She saw it.

"True, innit?" Nick says, laughing again. "I mean, I give _great_ head-"

"Nick-"

"And the rest of it, too," Nick says viciously. "I _never_ tell, you know that better than anyone. Did you agree with her, Haz? Swap some stories about how fun it was to experiment?"

"We weren't like that, Nick. You know we weren't-"

"Hmm, I distinctly remember buying you drinks and giving you head," Nick says, voice dull and half-amused. Harry hates her voice when it's like that. Harry's never in London anymore, and now she's ruined the one bloody night she gets to spend with Nick, and it's all sodded up.

"You're my best friend," Harry says thickly. "We were different."

Nick laughs again, and it comes out unsteady. She drops her fag on the ground, grinds it out with the toe of her shoe.

"Why d'you let her do that, Grim?" Harry asks. "Use you like that? You deserve-"  

"Oh _Jesus_ , yeah, please tell me what I deserve," Nick groans. "Please, enlighten me, Harry. What do I deserve?"

"Someone who actually loves you. Someone who cares about-"

"Is that meant to be _you_?" Nick laughs, looking mean and incredulous.

Harry's throat hurts. "N-no. I didn't say- I- I know why we're not-"

"We're _not_ anything, Haz. You're happily straight, aren't you? Who's that boy you're always papped with, eating fro-yo in bloody Los Angeles? And don't pretend you're not fucking him, I know how you are."

"That's not fair," Harry says, face going red. "You're the one who said you understood about- about the band. You're the one who didn't want us to, like-"

"Well, you never argued, did you?"

"That's not fair!"

"What's not fair is you telling me I 'deserve better'-" Nick puts air-quotes around the words, eyes burning - "Like you have the right to - to tell me what to do!"

Harry scrubs at her burning cheeks with one hand. God, she hates this. "I'm not telling you what to do."

"I can't see Bryony why, cos she's using me?"

"I didn't say you couldn't, Nick-"

"If you're jealous just say it," Nick says harshly. "Just fucking say it. Bored with blokes, are you, Harry? Wish you could still fuck around with a girl real easy? I'm always nice and convenient, right."

Harry's going to cry. She holds her face muscles as tight as she can. "No. That's not what I'm s-saying-"

Nick puts a hand over her face, bracelets jingling.

"Jesus," she breathes out. "Jesus, why are you still - do you know how fucking long it takes to get over you, Haz?"

Harry freezes like a deer in headlights. Shit. Now she's definitely going to cry.

"What?"

"A long bloody time," Nick mutters. "And I still let you just bloody come in here and - and, like. Shit."

Harry turns her back and tries to sob as quietly as she can. It's too much, though, and she chokes on it, coughs furiously.

"Oh shit," Nick whispers, and then there's a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Haz. Love. Don't - don't cry, fuck."

She slides her palm down Harry's back as it heaves with another sob, and Harry wants to push her off but at the same time she doesn't want to, at all. She wants Nick to cuddle her up in her arms and say it's gonna be alright.

"Don't - don't cry," Nick says shakily. "Please. I'm sorry, alright."

Harry turns and puts her face to Nick's neck.

After a moment Nick's hands come up slowly to the small of Harry's back. She pulls her in closer, and Harry burrows in as tight as she can til she can't see anything and all she can smell is Nick's perfume and her warm skin.

"It's fine," Nick whispers. "You're fine. Shh-sh."

Harry shakes her head.

"Yes you are," Nick says patiently, like Harry had responded out loud. "You're fine. You're just drunk and emotional and we had a fight."

Harry pulls back to say thickly, "I'm not drunk."

Nick smiles at her, hands curved around Harry's hips now. It feels familiar. Feels nice. "A little bit."

"I'm not!"

Nick snorts. This close, Harry can see the lines by her eyes. She stares at them for a minute, and then at Nick's soft mouth.

"Haz," Nick says warningly, hands tightening around Harry's hips. "We are not this cliche."

"What?" Harry says distractedly.

"Going from fighting to crying to kissing like a bleedin' episode of the L Word, no, we're not-"

Harry cuts her off with a kiss, and Nick humphs into her mouth indignantly before she gives in, lips parting. Harry licks inside, tastes fag smoke and vodka, and Nick groans against her mouth, walks them backward til Harry's back is pressed against the damp brick wall.

Harry arches up into it, fisting one hand in the back of Nick's t-shirt, snogging her so deep she has to break away after a minute or she'll pass right out. Nick gusts out a breath against her mouth, moves one of her hands from Harry's hip to the back of her head, fingers digging into her hair. Harry shudders. God, it's been a long time.

"We," Nick says, breathing hard. "Are in public, you trashbag."

"Not really."

"Enough." Nick licks her lips slowly, eyes on Harry's mouth.

"I missed you," Harry says stupidly, and Nick blinks, surprised.

"I'm right here."

"Before, I mean, Grim. When I was gone. I missed you."

Nick chews her swollen bottom lip.

"Did you miss me?" Harry asks, voice quavery. She needs to know, for some reason. She needs to know for sure.

"Don't need to miss you, see your face bloody everywhere, don't I. Every time I walk by a bloody newsstand-"

"Ni-ick," Harry says, leaning back against the wall, blinking at her. When her back's arched the button undone on her shirt gapes just right, and - ah. Nick's eyes dart down to her chest. Harry feels a bit manipulative, but whatever. She's fully planning on letting Nick do whatever she likes to her later, so. At least she follows through.

"Missed parts of you," Nick says, looking at her again, more deliberately this time, her gaze heavy and appreciative. "Mm, certain parts are very - missable."

"Dirty," Harry whispers delightedly.

Nick puts her hand between Harry's legs, just like that, cups her steadily through the denim of Harry's jeans. Harry quivers, a hot throb in her stomach.

"Certain parts," Nick says again, knuckling against the crotch of Harry's jeans and grinning. "I missed very, very much."

Harry fumbles to unzip her jeans right there, wanting Nick's hand closer, but Nick grabs her wrist.

"Stop that, god. Not here. I swear, if you had a cock you'd be in jail for indecent exposure by now."

"Where, then," Harry says, trying not to whine.

Nick's quiet for a long moment, like she's debating something with herself.

"My flat," she says.

Harry nods, fast and fierce, and Nick lets go of her completely, takes a step back and smooths a hand through her hair. Sniffs the fingers that were between Harry's legs like she can catch a hint of Harry's scent, and Harry goes weak-kneed at the casual dirtiness of it. She missed that, how Nick could lay her out with just a look, or something she did. Little things.

Harry chokes out a laugh, thinking of the song. She could rewrite it with some truly inappropriate lyrics.

"What?" Nick says, narrowing her eyes.

"Nothing," Harry says, throat hot. "Just missed you."

"Yeah, you've said," Nick says, snorting. "C'mon, let's go."

\---

She wakes up before Nick, watches her sleep for a while. Feels like old times, that. Curled up in Nick's bed with a dog snuffling between them. There's a pink mark on Nick's cheek from her pillow, and her mouth is open the way it always is when she sleeps. Harry can see her molars.

Harry hugs her pillow, staring at Nick. Sometimes she feels like a complete child, watching her. All giddy and loved-up. Maybe it's cos Nick never really changes. She's always just - here. Her familiar soft face and bed. The simple way she opens up for Harry, lets her right in, like they're still how they were. Harry knows, sometimes, that maybe it's not what she should do. Run back to her. But it's so bloody _easy_.

God, it's so easy, and it feels good. Harry rolls onto her back, staring up at Nick's ceiling, and startles when a phone buzzes on the nightstand.

It's Nick's. Harry picks it up, chewing her lip. Three unread texts, from Aimee, Bryony, and Nick's sister.

She peers over at Nick, who's still knocked out, and then swipes the phone open. Password's always the same - Arlo's birthday - and Harry quickly, carefully opens up Nick's messages. They always used to read each other's texts. It's _fine_. Harry would let Nick read her texts, if Nick wanted to.

Aimee's sent - _Morning baaabe. Shop and a drink today? NY was amazing but we missed you!_

The one from Bryony was last night, at eleven, and Harry gets a guilty clench of satisfaction that Nick didn't answer because she was with Harry, fucking her stupid.

_Sorry had to run out so quick! Thanks for dinner xx see you Tues night ;) Xx_

Harry glares at the screen. Nick bought her dinner? And who writes bloody _winky faces_ anymore?

She flips over to Jane's text.

_Hi nicky. Call me back please mum's worried about ya.  Love you Xxx_

Harry sets the phone down quietly on the nightstand, and rolls over to get close to Nick. Pig's like a lump on the duvet, though, weighing it down, and Harry can't move over far enough. She sighs, and flops back down into bed.

Why's Nick's mum worried about her?

Harry gnaws at a fingernail for a while, staring into space and imagining the possibilities. She's spiraling into absurd thoughts of Nick being secretly pregnant with Henry's child when she hears rustling, and turns to see Nick waking up. There's drool on her pillow and her eyes are scrunched-up with sleep and Harry smiles so wide it makes her jaw ache.

"Morning," she whispers.  

"Gghh," Nick mumbles, scrubbing her mouth with the back of her hand. "Morning."

Harry swallows hard, reaches over Pig to stroke Nick's hair away from her face. "You alright?"

"Yeah, good, yeah," Nick murmurs, eyes fluttering shut. "Mm. Sleepy."

"You want breakfast?"

Nick's mouth curves up, eyes still closed. "Yeah."

"I'll make breakfast."

Nick sighs, and Harry runs her thumb over the shell of her ear, before she slips out of bed and into the kitchen.

Predictably, Nick's got exactly nothing in her fridge. Milk, half a jar of olives, six pack of Diet Coke, the end pieces of a loaf of bread. There's a takeaway container that Harry takes one sniff of and promptly tosses into the bin. Christ, what does Nick _eat_?

There's cereal in the cupboard, and Harry grabs a handful because her stomach's grumbling. Maybe she'll go shopping. Maybe she'll go fetch a whole load of groceries, spinach and eggs and cheese and bacon and fresh bread. Do a proper fry-up. Nick's too skinny lately, anyway, no meat left on her thighs, and Harry can see why if this is all she's got in her refrigerator.

Harry stares into the fridge for a few minutes worrying, and then shuts it decisively.

She slips into a pair of Nick's jeans, peering over to where Nick's still sleeping peacefully. No need to wake her up, is there. She'll just pop out and come back. Nick'll never be the wiser.

\---

She opens the front door quietly, hoisting up her carrier bag from Waitrose. Maybe Nick's still - but no, Harry can hear her voice, filtering out from the bedroom. Oops.

She sets the food down, makes her way down the hall.

"- fine," she hears, Nick's voice raspy with sleep. "Can you tell mum to stop- no, I know, but I told her something came up with work. I had to shoot something."

Harry stops outside the bedroom. Holds her breath.

"Well, you don't have to be," Nick says, sounding firm. "I know. I- oh _Christ_ , Jane, I'm _fine_. It was Ducky's birthday, I wasn't gonna not go out."

A pause. Harry should just open the door. She should open the door, and smile at Nick, wait til she's off the phone with her sister and drag her into the kitchen for a fry-up.

She doesn't. She stays still and listens.  

Nick sighs heavily. "I know that. I just - no. Ohh, my god, Jane. Not everything in my life is about bloody Harry."

Harry nearly chokes on a breath, eyes opening wide.

"Let it go, Janie!" Nick says, after a long minute. "We weren't - god. Stop it, ugh, I'm not talking about this. Yes, I'll try and make it up next weekend. Mmhm, yeah. I know. Fine. Cheers, Jane, see ya."

She mutters a curse, and Harry swallows hard, stands there frozen for a minute until she hears the creak of bedsprings and she retreats down the hall, heart in her throat.

Nick emerges from the room a few minutes later, rubbing her eyes. Harry's got a pan out, butter starting to sizzle, and Nick sniffs the air and rubs her stomach, sliding onto a stool at the kitchen counter.

"Smells nice," she says, yawning, shoulders hunched.

"Said I'd make you breakfast," Harry says, chewing her lip. She fishes the eggs out of one of the bags.

"Did you?"

"Yeah." Harry swirls the butter around in the pan, cracks a few eggs.

Nick hums, and puts her chin in her palm.

They're both silent for a minute.

"Why's your mum worried about you?" Harry asks, bluntly. She turns to look at Nick, while the eggs crackle behind her.

Nick scoffs, staring at her. "You read my texts? Sneaky bitch."

Harry doesn't say anything.

"She's not - ugh. I was supposed to go home last weekend and I didn't, cos summat came up for work."

Harry makes a noncommittal sound.

Nick blinks up at her, and Harry's a coward, cos she just turns around, flips the eggs over. She can feel Nick's eyes on her back.

"Jane thinks I'm all, like, torn up," Nick says, voice carefully light. "Since you left. Heartbroken. Refusing to eat. Teeth-gnashing, the whole bit."

Harry swallows around the weird lump in her throat. She flicks the stove off.

"Are you?" she asks, without turning around.

"God no," Nick says, voice sharp. "I knew you were leaving, Harry. I told you, I'm not the type to-"

"You didn't know I'd start shagging someone else."

Nick goes silent. Harry stares down at the eggs, chewing the inside of her cheek. Idiot. Idiot.

"That bloke in the tabloids?" Nick says softly. "In LA? Fro-yo boy?"

"His name's Jeff."

"I know what his fucking name is," Nick mutters.

Harry's stomach clenches with surprise. It's not like she and Jeff have been all that discreet, but - Nick knowing who he is, it's just. It's strange.

"Are you, like, dating?" Nick asks. She still sounds small. Harry can't bloody turn around and see her face.

"We're just sleeping together," she says.

"Just sleeping together," Nick repeats, sounding sour. "Shocking."

Harry stabs at one of the eggs on accident, yolk starting to flow.

"You're with Bryony," she says, something simmering in her blood. "So we're both fucking other people."

"I know that. Never said I'd wait around."

"Me neither."

Harry's heart is pounding.

"Harry," Nick says. Harry doesn't turn. "Jesus. Look at me."

Harry pokes the other egg til it breaks, and turns around. Nick's watching her, eyes dark behind her glasses.

"Why the fuck are we fighting?" Nick asks, softly.

Harry sniffs in hard, scrubs a hand over her nose. "I dunno."

"Like, you've got - what, a couple days before you go back to LA, and we're bloody fighting like some boring old married couple."

"Married," Harry says thickly, laughing. "We're both shagging other people."

"I know. God, this marriage is unhealthy."

Harry snorts into her hand, and Nick cracks a smile, eyes crinkling.

"Listen, alright," she says. "Gonna go take a quick shower. Promise I won't be a bitch when I come back."

She wanders over to press a soft kiss to Harry's jaw. "Be out in ten minutes, alright? Thanks for breakfast."

Harry nods, chewing her lip. She's popping bread into the toaster when her phone buzzes on the countertop. It's Jeff, which makes no sense considering what Harry knows about time zones.

"Hello?" she says, laughing already when she hears a blast of music. "In't it like 3 AM there?"

"Harry?" Jeff says, voice thick and slurred. Harry snorts, takes a bite of egg out of the pan. "Wait wait wait. Wait. Waaaait."

"Waiting," Harry says with her mouth full, and she hears the music go muffled and quiet.

"H?" Jeff asks, voice louder than before. "You there?"

"I'm here. Why the fuck are you awake?"

Jeff laughs hoarsely. "Alison's friend's birthday. We're at the Standard. Baaaby. I'm like, drunk."

"Don't call me baby," Harry reminds him, licking a bit of yolk off her finger. "Which friend of Ali's?"

There's a long pause. Harry tips her head onto her hand, listening.

"Uhhhh," Jeff says, sounding distracted. "Like. Anthony."

"Have I met him?"

"Don't think so. They went to camp together."

"You don't even sound that drunk," Harry says. "I'm impressed."

"Years of practice," Jeff says. He belches softly, away from the phone. What a gentleman. "Fundraisers and - and Shabbat dinners, gotta be - coherent."  

Harry bites down a grin. "My favorite functioning alcoholic."

"Shut up," Jeff laughs. "Where are you?"

"I'm, um." Harry looks around Nick's empty kitchen. "I'm at a friend's house."

"A friend?"

"Yeahh, a friend," Harry says, laughing.

"How big's this friend? I need to fight him?"

Harry rolls her eyes. "You're an idiot."

"Yeah, you're right. I can't fight anyone. Brook punched me in the face once when I was twelve and I started crying."

Harry snorts.

"When do you leave London, H?" Jeff asks.

"Thursday."

"You gonna be back in LA anytime soon?"

"Soon, yeah. I might, after, like, this bit of tour. I dunno."

Jeff sighs.

"Because, like, I miss you," he says quietly, and then, fast - "I'm really, really fucking drunk. So just, like, forget I said that."

Harry sticks a thumbnail in her mouth to gnaw at.

"Go to sleep," she says eventually.

"Fuck. I will. Sorry."

Harry sighs, just as Nick's bedroom door creaks open, footsteps starting down the hall. She freezes, belly flopping like she's been caught out.

"Umm," she says quickly. "I have to go."

Jeff makes a sleepy noise.

"Get home safe, alright?" Harry asks, just as Nick pads into the kitchen, a loose t-shirt and knickers thrown on, hair dripping onto the floor.

"Yeah, baby. G'night."

"Don't call me baby," Harry says reflexively, and, faster, "Bye. Bye. See you soon."

She hangs up, and Nick blinks bemusedly at her.

"Hi," Harry breathes, forcing a smile.

"Hi," Nick says. "Breakfast ready?"

"Oh- shit." Harry grabs for the toaster, but the bread's already burnt. "Fuck."

"Appetizing," Nick says dryly, peering at the eggs, gone a bit rubbery by now. "Masterchef Styles."

"I got distracted." Harry's red in the face. "Sorry."

Nick shrugs, forking up a bite of overcooked eggs. "It's alright. It's edible."

Something in Harry's stomach feels wobbly, so she slides out of her chair, swallows hard before she puts her arms around Nick's waist.

"We could also eat later," she murmurs, before she puts her teeth against the back of Nick's neck.

Nick shudders hard. "I'm starved," she protests, voice small, but she turns and Harry kisses her, hard. It's the last time she'll get this for a long time, probably. Nick's soft mouth and her fingers combing through Harry's hair.

She breaks off to snog Nick's neck, wanting her to make noise, and Nick doesn't disappoint. She moans, hand clenching on the back of Harry's neck.

"Hazza-"

"What," Harry mumbles against Nick's collarbone, her hand wriggling between them to unzip Nick's jeans.

" _Christ_ , fuck," Nick curses, when Harry gets them open, gets a hand down her knickers. She rubs hard against the swell of flesh over Nick's clit, feeling the hard nub of it, and Nick lets out a shaking breath, head thunking against the wall behind her.

"Harry, slow the fuck down," she chokes.

Harry slows down. Reaches further between Nick's legs, finds her cunt, warm and soft, and Nick _hmm_ s quietly.

"What's gotten you so riled up?" she asks, tugging gently at a handful of Harry's hair. "In the kitchen, really, Styles? At half-eleven?"

"Just you," Harry says, wriggling her fingers deep, til she can feel the slick inside. "You always get me riled up."

Nick laughs at her, and tips her chin up for another kiss.

It's fucked that Bryony doesn't get Nick off. It's fucked she wouldn't want to. There's nothing Harry loves better than the challenge of making Nick come. Figuring out how to unlock her, gently pry her apart, until she loses her carefully-held composure. Until she's impressed.

Harry drops to her knees and tries to impress her.

\---

It's nearer to sunrise than midnight and Nick's got work tomorrow, but Harry knows she's awake. She can hear Nick's uneven breathing. Pig's snoring at the foot of the bed, and Harry's pressed against Nick's bare back, breathing quietly against the back of her neck, into the sweet-smelling ends of her hair. And they're both awake.

Course they are, it's Harry's last night in town. Neither of them sleep well on those nights.

Sometimes Harry wishes Nick weren't - Nick. That she were someone else. Not - not really someone else, but just - easier.

Someone who could go on tour with Harry, go round the world with her, help her break in uncomfortable hotel beds. Someone who didn't have all these roots put down, years and years of a life here in London.

 _Someone with a dick, I bet_ , her mind says meanly, because her mind thinks Harry's a real bloody coward sometimes.

She cuddles closer to Nick's back, and Nick sighs.

Last time she left, Nick got her off four times in one night, sat back on her haunches after they were finished with her mouth swollen and her eyes dark and looked desperately at Harry like she wanted Harry to throw it all away and stay forever. Like she thought she'd earned it.

Harry shuts her eyes, pushes her face into the back of Nick's neck. She inhales deep.

"Sometimes it's worse," Nick says, into the silence. Her voice is rough, low. "When you're, like, here. It's worse."

Harry's gone stiff, breathing carefully. Her eyes are open, peering into darkness.

"What d'you mean? Worse than what?"

"Than when you're gone," Nick mutters.

Harry has no clue what to say to that.

"I tried, last time," Nick continues. Her back's to Harry, no clue to her mood in the curve of her cheek or jaw. "I tried to just, like. Get over it, you know."

Harry knows. She knows.

"But it's harder," Nick mumbles. "Worse. When you're here."

Harry swallows thickly.

"I'm coming back, you know," she says, helplessly.

Nick goes quiet.

"Maybe you shouldn't," she says after a long minute.

Harry pulls her arm off Nick's hip. "What?"

"Maybe you shouldn't come back," Nick repeats. Her voice sounds hoarse.

"What d'you- what? What, are you splitting up with me?"

"We're not _together_ ," Nick says fiercely. "So technically, we can't-"

"Technically," Harry chokes out. "What the fuck, Nick. What- what the fuck are you-"

She sits up in bed, pushing her hair out of her face. Nick turns over to face her, jaw clenched.

"How many more times do you leave?" she asks. "Cos I want - I want you to be happy, Haz, and I know how much it makes you happy to be in One Direction, and I'd never, never ask you to-"

"Don't pretend it's all selfless," Harry says, reaching for a pillow, feeling abruptly vulnerable without anything covering her chest. "Don't pretend it's not about you not wanting a real girlfriend."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You say all the fucking time that you don't do actual relationships," Harry says, throat aching. "Don't act like you wouldn't get sick of me if I were around all the time."

Nick blinks at her.

"I wouldn't get sick of you," she says, voice small.

"You already bloody are," Harry mutters. "You don't want me to come back."

"Because it's not _enough_!" Nick's voice breaks, and she puts her face into the crook of her elbow. Fumbles her way upright in bed, tucking her knees against her chest, not looking at Harry.

Harry stares at her for a minute. Nick looks small like that, long legs tucked in and head bent.  

"How come you never tell me what you actually want?" she asks, and Nick lifts her head, gusting out a harsh breath. Her eyes are puffy, which is - terrifying. Harry hasn't seen Nick cry since she saw a rat outside her flat last summer. Nick doesn't _cry_. She sniffles at films, maybe gets a little emotional when she's hungover, but she doesn't-

"What?"

"I want you," Harry says, clutching her pillow close. "But I don't know what you want."

"Cos it doesn't matter," Nick answers, voice wobbly.

"Yes it does."

"It doesn't! Jesus. You're still - you. I'm not the only person who wants you, Haz. Every straight male on this fucking planet-"

"Who cares? Who bloody cares about anyone else?"

"You do," Nick snaps. "Don't be dramatic."

"I can still have that stuff and- and be with you, it's not-"

"So, what, I see you twice a year," Nick says. "For like a month, and we can't go out _properly_ , of course, God forbid anyone find out-"

"So that's what you want," Harry says, latching onto it. Her heart's pounding. "You want me to come out."

"That's- that's not what I said."

"I'm asking, then. Do you want me to come out?"

"I don't want to decide when you fucking come out!" Nick snaps. "Or if you ever want to! That's not my bloody decision!"

"I will. I - I could." Harry swallows against a hot rush of fear.

"Don't do it because of me," Nick says, wide-eyed.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm - because I'm not, I won't-" Nick stammers, swallows. "Because I'm shit at all this. At - at the commitment. You'll get bored of it. Of me."

It comes out shaky and honest.

Harry wants to cry. She hates that Nick thinks that of her. That Harry’ll get bored, like anything about Nick is boring.

But there’s a part of it she can’t argue with.

“I can’t just-” Nick stops, sucking in a ragged breath. “I dunno, Harry. You’ve got to do what you want, but don’t- don’t do it cos of me.”

“Are you in love with me?” Harry asks, and it comes out tiny. “Remember you said that, once. You said- you said you could fall in love with me.”

Nick looks at her, red-eyed.

“It’s not really important,” she says, small and resigned. “Is it? Doesn’t really change anything.”

Harry looks away, because she really is going to cry.

“You’re- you’re a really special person,” Nick says, wobbly, and through the haze of tears Harry rolls her eyes. How bloody cliched. They have to resort to cliches now? “And I- I just can’t, like. I can’t be part of you not- not doing everything you want. I want- I want you to get everything you want.”

Harry draws in a long breath, blinks up at the ceiling so her eyes won’t spill.

“You’re one of my best friends,” Nick says, voice cracking raggedly on the last word. “And it’s okay if that’s all - if that’s all we are.”

“You know that’s not all we are.”

“Maybe it should be.” Nick’s face is clenched. “At least for now.”

Harry feels her lip tremble. She looks down.

“I know I promised I could do it,” Nick says, strained. “Just be with you when you’re here. But- but I dunno if I can. God, I know that’s stupid, I know I’m- I’m being an idiot, I just-”

She worries her lip between her teeth. Harry can’t look at her.

“I think maybe it’s not good,” she says, halting. “Like. For me.”

Harry clenches her jaw hard.

“And that’s not your fault,” Nick adds, staring at her wide-eyed, anxious. It’s so unfamiliar on her face, that look. Makes Harry scared. “It’s not.”

“How is that not my fault,” Harry says thickly.

“It’s not your fault that I’m always here, and you’re always-” she motions with one hand. “I knew that going in. I knew it’d always have to-”

She stops, voice breaking like she’s going to sob.

“God, I fucking hate this,” she mumbles. “This is why I don’t do this.”

“I just don’t-” Harry swallows around the lump in her throat. “I don’t get it, like.”

“All I want is for us to stay friends,” Nick says unsteadily.

“We _can_ ,” Harry breathes. “We’ve been friends this whole time, Nick. I don’t- I don’t get it.”

“And that’s the problem,” Nick says, choking a laugh. “You don’t get why it’s fucking me up. I like being happy, Haz. I like being happy and- and enjoying my bloody life, for fuck's sake. But when I think about you-”

“I don’t make you happy,” Harry chokes.

“It’s not that. You do.”

“So - so what is it then.” Harry sniffs.

“When you leave London,” Nick says, wobbly. “Which I know isn’t your fault, but- when you leave, I feel like- I feel not happy. And I’m sick of it.”

“So it’s not worth it, is what you’re saying.”

“Christ, Harry. Stop making this harder.”

"Oh, so I should just make it bloody easier for you to - to split up with me?" She knows her voice is rising, but she can't help it.

"Harry," Nick says, swallowing. "I don't - maybe we should, like. Talk later. It's late, and I've got work-"

"That's such a fucking cop-out," Harry says harshly. "That's exactly like you, Nick. Avoiding everything."

"What the hell does that mean?" Nick asks, low, sitting up straight.

"You know exactly what it means." 

"No, I don't."

It's infuriating, Nick's baffled gaze.

"You're so-" Harry grinds her jaw so hard it flicks with pain. "You won't ever talk about anything."

"First time I've heard that," Nick says weakly, blinking. "Usually it's that I can't shut up-"

"You know what I mean." Harry's cheeks are red. "Anything _important_. Like - like this shit with Bryony."

A muscle tightens in Nick's jaw.

"You'd rather fuck around with some girl who doesn't even - even touch you-" Harry falters at the flash of surprised shame on Nick's face. "She- she told me that, too. Told a perfect stranger that she likes you cos you don't make her return the favor after you get her off."

Nick's face is tight. She won't catch Harry's eye, and it sets something on fire in Harry's chest. She practically growls, she's so mad.

"Why don't you bloody like yourself enough to want to be with someone who actually wants to touch you? That's messed-up, Nick."

"That's not-" Nick starts. Her mouth snaps closed, opens again. "That's not how it is."

"She said something else too," Harry says, tight and fiery. "Said everyone knew you had a thing for younger girls. Asked if you'd tried it out on me."

Nick draws in a wobbly breath, looks pointedly away.

Harry's hands ball into fists. "You deserve-"

"Oh, _Christ_ , not this again," Nick says, sucking in a breath, rubbing at her nose. "Not what I fucking deserve. What I deserve is to not fucking sit around waiting for you to come back."

"I never asked you to wait."

"Fine!" Nick practically yells. "Then I fucking won't anymore. I won't."

"Good," Harry chokes, confused. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we shouldn't do this for a while."

"Fine," Nick repeats hoarsely. "You know what, I'll - I'm gonna go sleep on the sofa."

Harry stares at her. "Are you bloody serious? And you're the one always calling me dramatic-"

"I have fucking work in two fucking hours!" Nick swipes the back of her hand over her eyes. "Jesus. I can't bloody do this right now."

"I'm leaving _tomorrow_ ," Harry says thickly. "There's no other time to do it."

Nick just shakes her head, grabbing for a blanket.

"Don't - wait." Harry's head is throbbing. "You don't have to leave. I can leave-"

"No, it's fine." Nick sniffs in hard. "I just need to sleep."

"Nick-"

Nick shuts the door firmly behind her.

Harry sits there, dumbstruck, for a good two minutes.

Eventually the pull of sleep is too heavy to ignore, and she curls into Nick's sheets, breathes out wet and trembling, lets her eyes close.

She wakes up to an empty flat, late morning sun filtering in through the blinds. There's a nest of bedclothes on the sofa and one of Nick's shoes is thrown across the kitchen floor, Pig contentedly gnawing at it.

"Don't, Pig," Harry mumbles wearily, tugging it away from her. She scans the counter for a note, checks her phone to see if Nick's texted, but there's nothing. Fucking nothing.

Harry packs her things and calls a cab to her flat. If that's what Nick wants, she'll get it.

\---

She spends her next tour break in Idaho, with Jeff. Nick doesn't ask her to come back, and Harry doesn't offer.

The resort where they're staying is gorgeous, and as soon as Harry slides out of the back of the Range Rover she sighs happily. Everything's green, and sunny, and sort of _stately_ in a way L.A. just isn't.

"I got your bag, H," Jeff says, kissing her cheek from behind. "Here, lemme show you the room."

Harry follows him into the main lodge, adorned in creepy taxidermied animal heads and smelling of woodsmoke, and into an elevator.

Jeff leans against the wall, smiles at Harry, and Harry smiles back.

"It's really nice," she says.

"Yeah, it's alright. We've been coming here in the summers since I was a kid."

"Sick."

"Yeaah," Jeff laughs, eyes scrunching. "It's pretty sick, bro."

Harry pulls a face at him.

"Hey," he says, beckoning her closer. "Glad you're here."

"Me too," Harry says honestly, and Jeff slides his hands onto her jaw. Harry parts her lips for a kiss, just as the door opens and there's a loud cough.

Jeff pulls away sheepishly.

"Uh, hey," he says, as Harry wipes a hand over her mouth. "Hi, mom."

"Hey, Shelli," Harry says, flushing, and Shelli just laughs, holds the door for them so they can get out. She kisses Jeff on the cheek, hugs Harry hard. She smells like gin and Chanel No. 5, just like she has every time Harry's ever met her, no matter what time of day.

"So, you got in safely," she says.

"Yeah, yeah, mom. The flight was fine. Which is our room?"

"Oh," Shelli says, wide-eyed. "I didn't think you'd be sharing…"

Harry tenses up, and Jeff snorts.

"Shut up, mom. God."

"Second door on the left," she says, chuckling. "We already ate, but I had Marta whip something up for you both. Head down to the patio when you're ready."

"Thanks," Harry says, face still red. "I really appreciate you having me-"

"Oh, of course, Harriet. Of course, darling. Go and eat, you guys must be starving."

\---

Jeff takes a sip of his wine, and Harry smiles around a bite of lamb. It's good, tender, even though she doesn't usually love lamb. Probably cos she had a lamb kebab with Nick once after a night out and immediately sicked it up in Nick's kitchen sink while Nick tried to hold her hair back and ended up just getting puke on her hands.

"Harry?"

Harry swallows, grabs her water. "Yeah?"

"Can I just, um." Jeff lets out a breath, like he's nervous. Which is weird. He's never nervous. "I just. I really like you, you know."

Something clenches in Harry's stomach, hot and queasy, like dread. She's pretty sure that's not what's supposed to happen when someone tells her they like her, but that doesn't change the gnawing in her gut.

"I like you too," she says warily.

"Yeah. Yeah." Jeff coughs into his napkin. "I mean, I- God. Fuck."

"Breathe, mate," Harry advises, and Jeff rolls his eyes at her.

"What? Just trying to help!"

"I'm fine. You're just-" Jeff looks at her for a long second, and then drops his gaze. "Fuck. I really like you, H. I want to, like. I'd like to see you officially, if that would be something, like. You know. You'd want."

"Officially?"

"Seriously, I mean." Jeff coughs again. "I'd like to, um, be in a serious relationship with you. If that's what you'd maybe want."

He stops, cheeks red, and reaches hastily for his wine.

Harry has no clue what to say. She has a feeling the right answer is probably _yes_ , but it's not - a serious boyfriend? Now? When she's going on tour in the fall and back to London for the hols? And what does that mean, anyway, a _serious relationship_. Like Harry can't see other people, and they have to spend all their time together, and Jeff gets to kiss her in public and tell everyone they're together? Jesus, imagine all the magazine articles, and the pap photos, and the way people'll get when they break up.

If. _If_ they break up.

"Um," she says, to buy time. She reaches for her water and realizes it's empty. Shit. "I mean, I like you, obviously... I really do. Obviously. Uh."

Jeff doesn't step in to help her out. He just watches her, steadily. For a split second it feels like they're cutting a business deal, and Harry tries not to shiver.

"I like how we are now," she says weakly. "Like, I really like, uh, spending time with you."

"How we are now?" Jeff raises an eyebrow. "So, like, being together all the time, and you meeting my family, and going on vacation together. Because that's how we are now, Harry. We're basically dating."

"Yeah, but. Yeah. I dunno. I'm just not, um. I'm leaving soon, and I-"

"I don't care," Jeff says, low in his throat. "I know it's hard with your schedule, and the press and all that. But I have really strong feelings for you, H. Like more than anyone I've ever dated."

Harry looks down at her plate, swallowing. "Oh."

"I mean, I don't do this with every girl I'm with, you know that, right? Meeting my whole family and everything. My family's fucking insane. My dad _likes_ you, Harry, you know how rare that is?"

Harry's skin feels prickly. She can't stop staring down at her half-finished lamb. Why's it never enough, for people? To just hang out with her, and fuck her, and be her friend, and then not get so - tangled up in all that feelings shite?

She resents him, for a second. Like Harry's supposed to fall all over herself because Jeff's dad likes her. She likes Irving too, and she likes that he thinks she's talented, but that's not gonna have a bearing on who she bloody _dates_.

"I don't really, um," she starts. "I don't really like being in serious relationships. Not at this, like, point in my life."

Jeff watches her, and Harry bites her bottom lip hard.

"Sorry," she says. "I know that seems like a cop-out, or summat, I dunno. It's just not, uh, something I can do right now. I really fancy you, Jeff, it's not that-"

"No, it's fine," he says, nodding, forcing a smile. "I understand. It's fine."

His face is smooth, untroubled. He reminds Harry of Nick when he does that, tucks things away.

Nick. Fuck. Sometimes Harry thinks she dreamed it or something - what she did with Nick.

But then she'll see a photo, or a woman who reminds her. Long legs and a short skirt, a low wry voice like Nick's. And it all comes back.

Harry lets out a strangled breath, and puts another piece of lamb into her mouth. Jeff pulls out his phone. They don't talk for the rest of dinner.

Jeff's mum calls them into the lounge, after their plates are cleared. A fire's crackling, even though it's the middle of summer, and they sit in plush armchairs and drink port wine that burns Harry's throat, makes her lips tingle. She feels overheated, sweating in her vest and denim shorts, and Jeff won't stop checking his fucking phone.

He's the same as his dad, that way. Shelli laughs about it all the time, squeezes Harry's knee in solidarity.

It's barely twenty minutes before Harry has to get the hell out.

"Sorry," she says, nearly cutting Irving off mid-story. They're talking about baseball, which Harry doesn't give the tiniest shit about, and she really needs a wee. "I'm going to head up to bed, I think. Feeling a bit wobbly."

"Oh, honey, are you okay?" Shelli asks, rubbing her back. Harry twists away, because she's sweating like mad, smiles through a clenched jaw to hide it.

Irving peers at her through his glasses as he takes a sip of wine. "Was it something you ate, Harriet?"

"No, no, sorry. Maybe a bit too much sun. Just need to lie down."

She forces another smile, and leans over to kiss Jeff's cheek. He gives her thigh an absent squeeze, not really looking at her. Still angry, then. Even though he'll never admit it.

"Good night, babe," she says, softly to him, and then again to everyone else. "Thanks, sorry. Sure I'll feel better tomorrow."

"Get some rest, sweetheart," Shelli says, clucking.

Harry nods.

A weight lifts off her shoulders when the elevator doors slide shut, and she leans back against the wall, lets out a long shaking breath.

The room is cool, air-conditioning on, and Harry shivers in her sweat-damp clothes. She peels them off, shrugs on one of Jeff's t-shirts, crawls under the covers with her phone.

It's the middle of the night back in London, so Harry doesn't have to scroll that far back on Instagram before she finds Nick's last post. She could just search Nick's name, if she wanted to see, but that feels a bit too - intentional, or summat.

It's a photo of a pint sat on a table, and Fiona's face grinning in the background, tongue out. _SCHOOL HOLS @fionaradio_ , Nick's written, along with two pint emojis and a sun and the girls-holding-hands one.

Harry clicks on her profile, scrolls through until she sees a selfie. Nick's in her glasses, obviously just woken up, hair spread out over the pillow and one dark blue camisole strap falling off her shoulder. Pig's face is about an inch from Nick's freckled cheek, pink tongue out, eyes closed. Harry huffs out a laugh.

 _Cool bed companion, totally doesn't smell like she ate her own poo yesterday_ , the caption reads.

Harry misses her, sudden and fierce like a kick in the gut. She breathes out carefully, and shuts her phone off to try and sleep.

She's still awake when Jeff comes in, kicking off his shoes.

"You awake, Harry?" he says into the darkness.

Harry stays quiet, heart beating fast.

The toilet light flicks on after a second, and Jeff goes in and shuts the door, turns the sink on. Harry sighs, rolls onto her back and blinks up at the ceiling.

The toilet flushes after a while, and then Jeff gets into bed, hands damp, smelling like faded cologne and toothpaste. He reaches over to kiss Harry's forehead, rolls onto his side, away from her. Sighs.

The worst bit is that Harry really does like him. He's a good person. Kind. Funny. He's got strong opinions and he loves his family and he loves his job and he works hard.

Harry's so _bored_ sometimes.

Which is terrible. He's not boring.

She thinks about it for a minute, imagines a whole life with him. Years and years. Ending up an industry wife drinking at a party as Jeff makes the rounds, some drunk old man staring at her tits and asking her if she used to be in some little pop band, back in the day.

Harry bares her teeth, pulls a pillow close to her chest. She's not that person.

She's not anyone's person.

She falls asleep irrationally angry, and wakes up early, before the sunrise, when the room is still dark and hushed. Jeff's curled up on his side, snoring. Harry watches him for a minute, feeling almost scientific about it, detached.

She doesn't love him. She likes him, because she likes most people. She likes his family, and the way he fucks her. But beyond that it's just - blank.

Jeff's still sleeping when she reaches over him to grab her phone.

 _Am I a bad person if i break up with jeff while we're with his entire family in Idaho_ , she types to Niall.

Niall responds in about ten seconds flat.

_What?!_

_Wait you and jeff are dating? Thought u were just shaggin ?_

Harry snorts softly to herself.

_Seeing each other whatever. he wants it to be more serious._

She can see Niall typing, and she sighs, rolls over onto her back.

_And you don't... Shocked!!! Im shocked!!! Ya flake_

_Have u told him yet aha. Come back to london fuck idaho wherever the bloody fuck that is_

Harry laughs again.

_Dunno if i can come back. Nicks there and we're not really seeing each other right now._

She hits send, swallowing hard.

Niall just sends back a screenshot of a Wikipedia page, and Harry wrinkles her nose and taps on it. _London had an official population of 8,416,535 in 2013, the largest of any municipality in the European Union_ -

Harry rolls her eyes. Underneath it, Niall's written.

_Stop being such a drama queen Styles_

_Come and stay at mine I'll cook for ya!_

Jeff turns over in bed, and Harry goes very still, clicking her phone so the screen fades to black.

He snores again, after a long silent minute, and Harry exhales in relief, peers back down at the screen. Niall's sent about fifteen food emojis, and Harry snorts.

_Might head back to LA. Not sure._

_You havent seen nick have you?_

It's a stupid question, and she regrets sending it immediately. Nick and Niall aren't even friends.

But then Niall says-

_Yea actually. at a thing at shoreditch that Laura dragged me to. I didn't like talk to her or anything.. Is that allowed? idk the lez rules??_

Idiot. Harry shakes her head. She wants to ask how Nick looked. What she said. What she was wearing. But she's pretty sure Niall already thinks she's mental enough, so she refrains.

_Don't be stupid haha_

_Ill speak with you soon yeah?_

_Yeah_ , Niall types back. _Good luck heartbreaker! Xx_

_\---_

Harry leaves in the morning. She tells Jeff she needs to get back into studio, and Jeff doesn't say much, just squints at her in the hot sunshine by the pool, mouth flat, and says, "Alright, H."

She leaves him with a kiss on his stubbly sun-warmed cheek, can't help the cool current of relief that flows through her as soon as she slides into the back of a cab. The flight's short to LA, and before too long she's in another cab, this time on her way to Taylor's house, pulling into the curved driveway just as the sun starts to set.

Taylor takes one look at her tragic tired face and says, "Get in here, I made cookies."

Harry croaks a laugh and stumbles inside.

"Sorry," she says, a half hour later, rubbing her hand over her face and reaching for the mug of mint hot chocolate Taylor made to go along with her mint-chip cookies, cos Taylor's not really familiar with the concept of overkill. They haven't said a word in ten minutes. She can practically feel Taylor struggling to keep her mouth shut. "I'm just tired. Sorry, I'm being boring."

"Did you get your heart broken, babe?" Taylor asks, softly.

Harry huffs a laugh. "No. Don't think so. Think - think I might've broken someone else's."

Taylor puts her chin in her hand. "Jeff?"

Harry nods, tugging a blanket over her lap. "He - he said he had strong feelings for me. More than anyone he's ever dated."

"Oh, god. That's like, serious. That's legit."

"I know." Harry fists her hands in the blanket, lets go.

"What'd you say?"

"That I don't like being in serious relationships at this point in my life," Harry recites. "And that I liked him, but I liked how we were."

Taylor sighs. "That's not too bad. Let him down easy."

"His face was - all. Y'know. I hurt him, I guess." Harry sniffs in hard. "I don't, like, mean to hurt people."

"I know," Taylor murmurs.

"I- I hurt Nick too," Harry mumbles, chest starting to tighten. "I keep hurting her. And I don't mean to."

"Harry," Taylor sighs. "It's not your fault."

"Yes it is." Harry pulls the blanket over her face, eyes starting to burn. "I don't want to hurt people-"

"Oh, _Harry_ -" Taylor crawls over to her, pulls Harry's face into her neck, the blanket twisted between them. "Honey. It's not your fault. You can't give everyone what they want all the time. Trust me, I've tried, and it doesn't work."

"But I - I like them, I just- I can't, I can't-"

"I know, shh," Taylor murmurs. She rubs Harry's back with one hand. "I know."

Harry breathes against Taylor's collarbone for a minute, slow.

"The way- the way I feel about Nick- felt, felt about Nick." Harry drags in a shaky breath. "It was like - was like way more than Jeff. Like different. And more."

"Yeah?"

"I dunno." Harry really doesn't bloody know. She just misses Nick. She misses feeling, like… whole. The way she did with Nick, once.

Taylor pulls back a little, smoothes Harry's hair out of her face. "You okay?"

"No," Harry says grumpily.

Taylor snorts. "You wanna make out to get your mind off it?"

Harry looks at her, perking up. "Seriously?"

" _No_ , idiot," Taylor laughs. "So gullible."

"You're a cruel mistress," Harry says, nuzzling against Taylor's shoulder.

"I know, I know. Actually, though, do you wanna eat junk food in the hot tub?"

"Mmm," Harry mumbles. That sounds _nearly_ as good as snogging. "Yes, please."

Taylor pats her head. "Alright, kiddo. I'll get the Cheez-its."

\---

Harry startles awake at 2 AM to the sound of her hotel phone ringing. They’ve been back on tour for a week and she’s still not used to the schedule. The jetlag doesn't help. Australia's on the entire other side of the world, turns out. Harry's been sleeping like shit.

"Hello?" she mumbles.

"Harry?" a girl's voice says, unfamiliar and young, and Harry hears a chorus of screaming start up somewhere in the distance. "Oh my _god_ , it's Harry! Harryyyy, babe, come down and say hi-"  

"Please don't ring the room, please, thanks," Harry says frantically, before she bangs the phone down. It rings five seconds later, and she picks it up, bangs it down again, savagely.

It rings again.

"Fucking hell," she mutters, before she drags herself up from the bed, shivering. The A/C is blasting, and she's only in a t-shirt and gym shorts.

She wraps a blanket around her shoulders like a cape and shuffles out of the room, looking for respite. They’re in a posh hotel outside Melbourne, and the hallway is completely silent, carpet thick and plush under her feet.

There's security at the end of the hall, some local bloke Harry's completely forgotten the name of. Harry gives a sleepy wave.

"Hi," she says, clearing her throat when she hears how froggy her voice sounds. "They figured out which room I'm in."

"Sorry about that, Ms. Styles," the man says, wincing. "We can ring the front desk-"

"It's no worries. Not your fault. Think I'll go sleep with Niall, if that's-"

She's about to knock on the door when the guard winces even more and says, "Sorry, Ms. Styles, but Ms. Horan has a guest over. She asked me not to bother her."

" _Does_ she?" Harry asks, grinning despite how bloody knackered she is. "Well, good for her."

The guard's mouth twitches up. "As far as I know, Ms. Tomlinson isn't occupied right now-"

"That's alright," Harry says hastily. Christ, if anyone found out she went to bed with Lou, they'd never hear the fucking end of it. Lou probably wouldn't even let her in. "I'll just go down to Liam's. Unless he's got someone in there as well, and everyone's getting laid except for me. That'd be tragic."

The guard visibly bites down a laugh. "I don't believe he has any guests, Ms. Styles."

"Well, cheers." Harry turns around. "Get some sleep!" she calls behind her, even though technically he probably shouldn't sleep, in case some mental fans break down the door and go on a murderous rampage. Oh well. It's the thought that counts.

She knocks on Liam's door for a good half-minute before it opens.

Liam's yawning, crossing an arm over his naked chest, legs bare in just a pair of black briefs. "Hazza?"

Harry leans against the door jamb, clutching her blanket-cape tighter around her. "C'n I come in? They're ringing my room."

"Yeah, course, babe," Liam mumbles, holding the door for her.

Harry walks in, and sighs. Ahh. Blissfully quiet, and the room's nice and warm. She drops her blanket on the ground, crawls into Liam's sleep-ruffled bed.

Liam doesn't say anything, just follows behind, yawning again, so wide his jaw creaks.

"Mmmm," Harry hums happily, into a pillow that smells like cologne. Smells like the warm crook of Liam's neck. One of her favorite places. "Thanks, Leemo."

"No worries," Liam murmurs, tugging the duvet up over them both, and Harry nestles her arse back into the cradle of his hips. He slings a heavy arm around her waist, and Harry sighs. Much better than sleeping alone.

"G'night," she mutters.

Liam just grunts, places a sleepy earnest kiss on the back of her head. Harry passes out straightaway.

\---

She wakes up to sunlight filtering through Liam's open curtains and the familiar heavy weight of a cock on the small of her back. Liam's snuffling against her neck, hand resting lightly on her hip, and before she can stop herself she's pressing back against that weight, slowly, savoring it.

"Mm," Liam hums, pulling Harry closer with one hand, still asleep. Harry licks her dry lips, reaches down to gently, carefully tug her shorts down, until- ah, fuck. She can feel Liam's dick through his briefs, hot and hard, snugged up against her skin.

Liam tenses, breath catching.

"Harry?"

Harry turns, finds Liam's face all crinkled up with sleep and confusion. His hand's still on her hip though.

"Morning," she whispers. "D'you wanna hook up?"

Not exactly her most subtle line, but then again, she's never been known for subtlety.

Liam blinks at her. "Wha?"

"Liam," Harry says gently, reaching behind her until she's groping the line of his prick. "I asked if you wanted to fuck me."

Liam's pink mouth opens halfway, and Harry doesn't miss the excited jump in his dick, blood rushing. She grins. That's a nice thing about blokes, innit. She can really tell when they want it.

"This is mental," Liam mumbles, still sleep-thick, his eyes dark. He moans when Harry kisses him open-mouthed, feels the soft of his fat bottom lip, sucks his tongue. It's the nicest sort of snogging, all wet and lazy and easy. Why has she never tried this out with Liam before? They snog until Liam's on his back, Harry half-on top of him, and she slides her hand down his bare belly, over hair and abs and all that nice stuff Liam's got lately, until she's reaching into his briefs.

Liam's breathing hard. He twitches when she runs her fingers over the leaking head of his cock.

"Haz-"

"Calm down," Harry says, biting her bottom lip in a grin. "S'just me."

" _Fuck_ , Haz," Liam groans, when Harry fists the length of his dick, dry and hot. She swipes a bead of precome off Liam's slit, raises it to her mouth, and Liam watches her with huge eyes.

Harry licks, slowly.

"Jesus," Liam mutters, before Harry leans down to kiss him again, makes him taste it. Shit, this is going to be fun. She's got no idea why they've never tried this before, but this seems like the perfect time to remedy that.

She rides him first, balances herself on his stomach and works herself down onto the fat length of his dick, gasping. Liam gets loud, too, which Harry knew in an abstract way from hearing him wank in the next bunk over. He moans, mutters things she can't quite catch, licks his lips and stares up at her, hands curled steadily around her hips.

She gets herself off once like that, rubbing her clit and rocking onto Liam's dick, and then she lets him flip them both over, fuck into her on her back. It's intense, then, their faces inches apart and Liam's hips slamming inside, a fast dirty shag, like they're both frantic to finish though Harry's already done a lap. Liam comes with a drawn-out groan, holding himself up with one elbow as his hips jerk.

Harry watches him, feeling raw and strangely detached, just for a minute. Like she's watching someone she doesn't know. She shivers.

And then Liam's eyes open dazedly and he gusts out a breath and Harry sinks back into the bed, relieved. It's just Liam. Just her Payno.

She kisses him, when he's still shuddering and coming down. Strokes his muscled back, exhales hard when he flops down next to her, reaches down to tug the condom off.

"Jesus," he says, voice hoarse.

Harry sighs, toes flexing as she stretches. Digs her head back into the pillow. Her cunt feels sore. Stretched. It's always different, having a dick. Than it is to have Nick's tongue or her clever fingers or -

Harry shuts her eyes, stops thinking about Nick.

"Good at that," she observes, and Liam laughs sheepishly, rolling over to drop the condom into the bin.

"Thanks."

"This is the part where you compliment me back, Liam," Harry says patiently, opening her eyes again, and Liam twists around to look at her, cheeks flushed.

"Oh- shut it," he says. "You know how you- you. Know. You know."

Harry grins up at the ceiling. "Cheers. Very eloquent."

"God," Liam exhales, scrubbing a palm through his hair. "That was- god. What was that for, Haz?"

Harry keeps staring up at the ceiling, trying to keep herself from tensing up. What sort of question is that? Nothing's _for_ anything else. It's all just fun. For fun.

"Dunno," she says lightly, before she rolls upright, climbs off the bed. "I'm gonna go take a shower."

"Alright," Liam mutters.

Harry comes around to his front, presses a kiss against his temple. "Don't get in a strop."

"I'm not in a strop," Liam says through a pout.

"Yeah, yeah. See you in a bit."

She kisses him on the lips, grabs for her shirt and shorts and turns to go.

The door's clicking shut behind her when she sees Lou coming toward Liam's door, in gym shorts and a baggy hoodie, yawning and barefoot. Her eyes widen when she sees Harry, and then narrow when she sees where Harry's coming from.

"That's not your room," she says, and Harry feels an abrupt flush of shame.

"I was just-" she starts. "Uh. Like. People were ringing my room last night. Liam said I could, like, sleep in there if I wanted."

Lou's eyes dart from Harry’s flushed face to her bare legs, and her jaw tightens. Harry tries not to look guilty.

"Sure," Lou says.

"I'm - I'm gonna go get dressed."

"Yeah, you do that," Louise bites out, and Harry shoves past her.

When she turns back to look, Lou's ducking back into her own room.

\---

Tour ends, and they all head back to London for the Brits, shaking off the sunshine and flying back to damp misery. It's all the more miserable cos Harry hasn't spoken to Nick, and as soon as she sees Nick from two tables over her whole heart does a clench and she has to fight to keep the smile on her face.

"Champagne, Hazza?" Niall says, cheeks already red from her first glass. Harry nods slowly, watches as Niall pours it out. Nick's laughing at something Fiona's said. She looks happy.

Harry pulls out her phone under the table, smiling blandly when the camera comes by their table.

 _Hi_ , she writes, and she hits Send before she can second-guess it. With her free hand she reaches out for a swig of champagne.

She watches Nick look down at her phone, and types as fast as she can before Nick looks away-

_Can you meet me outside?? I want to talk_

Nick's reply comes quick. _Are you bleeding mad_

Harry bites her lip.

_No. Just for a minute i swear. Please xx_

Nick doesn't respond, but when Harry peers over a minute later, Nick's gone.

Harry steels herself, and shoves her chair back.

\---

"Hey," Harry says, shakily. She still can't quite believe Nick did it, followed Harry out of the bloody Brits to a stairwell in the O2 just cos Harry wanted her to. It's the worst timing, of course, but Harry needed to see her up close. It's been months.

"Hiya," Nick says, neutral, watching her steadily.

"You look- you look amazing," Harry says, swallowing.

"Thanks." Nick flicks her phone on, checks the time, looks at the door of the stairwell. "Did you want something specific, or-"

Harry steps closer to her, and Nick stumbles back against the wall, looking alarmed.

"Hazza, what the _hell_ are you doing."

"Just-" Harry presses close, sliding one arm around the slim bend of Nick's waist. "Can we just-"

"Jesus," Nick says. She sounds tired. "Harry-"

"Just this once," Harry breathes, against the wet curve of Nick's lips. Nick smells like vodka and lemon, which is maybe why she lets Harry kiss her, full and open-mouthed, and it's almost definitely why she drops to her knees after a minute and shoves Harry's dress up, like she hadn't been acting all innocently confused a minute earlier. Harry doesn't give a single bloody shit why Nick's doing it. All she cares about is Nick's mouth between her legs. Maybe that makes her a selfish bitch, but she doesn't care about that either.

She comes down when she's finished, breathing so hard it echoes noisily in the narrow stairwell, toes curling in her heels. Her hair's sticking to the back of her neck, damp with sweat, and she shivers when Nick pulls herself up from her knees, leans in to kiss the hollow of Harry's throat, and then the top of her chest where her dress is cut low.

"Jesus," Harry says, voice wobbly. She swears she only meant to talk, but what's the point in saying that now.

Nick presses her face into Harry's neck. There's something vulnerable about it, soft, and Harry strokes her back with trembling hands.

"You make me so fucking stupid," Nick mumbles against her skin.

Harry swallows hard, tips Nick's chin up and leans in for a kiss just as the door swings open and Nick staggers backward, immediately adjusting her top. Harry tugs down her dress, heart pounding, looks up to see Matt in the doorway, staring at them both.

Harry can't read the expression on his face.

"You've won something, Harry," he says, voice flat. "They're looking for you."

Nick's wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, not making eye contact with either of them. Matt looks at Nick for a second like he's never seen her before in his life. He looks disappointed.

"Thanks," Harry says stupidly, pushing past him, and the door slams shut behind her. She takes off down the hallway, heels clicking, feeling wobbly and terrified. God, if it hadn't been Matt. If it'd been someone else, someone with a camera, if it'd been five minutes earlier and they'd caught Nick on her knees-

Her band is onstage, Liam talking earnestly into the mic, and Harry starts running, realizing halfway there that she needs to hold her chest to keep it in place, and then realizing yet _again_ that maybe that's not very good to do on telly. She slows to a walk, waving frantically, and Liam laughs into the mic.

"Oh, there she is. Thought we lost you, Haz."

The crowd's laughing, and Harry's cheeks are hot, and Jesus, ten minutes ago Nick was tonguing her clit. She staggers up the stairs, grinning wide, hoping she doesn't look as mental as she feels.

Liam hands her the mic, laughing.

"Uhh," Harry says breathlessly. "Thank you - sorry, I was having a wee. I, uh." She fumbles, looks over at the rest of them. Niall's nearly bent double, laughing hysterically. "What did we win?"

There's a roar from the crowd, and Harry laughs weakly along with them. "Sorry, I'm - just gonna give the mic back to Liam, now, that's - sorry- thank you so much, we really appreciate your support-"

She hands it back, and Liam rolls his eyes, starts talking again. Harry tunes him out, stands up there with her hands shaking, smiling as huge as she can.

"Where the fuck were you?" Louise whispers in her ear.

"Toilet," Harry says quickly back, and Lou narrows her eyes suspiciously.

Harry's filing back to her seat when she sees Nick slipping guiltily through the back door, Matt right behind. Lou sees her too, and she shoves at Harry’s shoulder.

" _Please_ don't tell me," she says in Harry's ear. "Nick fucking Grimshaw had something to do with that."

Harry shrugs Lou off and slides into her seat, grabbing her drink.

"Harry-"

"Stop," Harry says, not looking at her. "Just - don't, alright?"

Niall's watching them both with a worried expression, and then the camera swings their way and they all break into wide grateful smiles.

It's not til the next commercial break that Harry feels a buzz under her leg. It's Nick.

_Youre absolutely a mental humanb eing_

_How long are you in town ??_

Harry has to consciously keep the grin off her face. She types shakily- _Dunno yet._

Nick responds in two minutes flat.

_Aren't u coy._

_You want to come out with us tomorrow?? Show you a proper night out its been a while_

Harry nearly tears up, weirdly grateful.

 _Yeah_ , she types back, hands unsteady. She's had a few more glasses of champagne.

_Long as i can stay at yours after_

She checks her phone next when she's in a cab on the way to an afterparty, with Liam scream-singing Usher in one ear and Niall laughing in the other.

_Youre mental . and yes you can stay_

\---

"Harriet, darling, good to see you," Henry shouts over the music, tugging Harry in to kiss her cheek.

"You too," Harry says. "Love the shirt."

"Aw, thanks." Henry smiles, eyes steady and cool on Harry's, and then he leans in to speak in her ear. "So, you and Nick. Gotten back into it, have you?"

Harry flushes, and grabs for her drink.

"Yeah, guess so," she says, forcing out a smile. She never knows how much Nick tells him.

Henry puts an arm around her shoulders.

"You know," he drawls. "Nick's a bit of a masochist, I dunno if you've noticed."

Harry stiffens.

"And I feel, at times, that it's my job to look out for her. Y'know. Us gays have to watch out for each other, you understand, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry says dumbly.

"So if you're fucking around again," Henry whispers, low and tight, right against her ear. "And you're gonna drop her like a used tissue cos you rediscover how much you like dick. Don't expect to ever fucking see her, _ever_ again, alright, darling?"

His voice slides back into sweetness, and he takes his arm away, gives her a smile and turns into the crowd before Harry can say a word.

She stands there, jaw clenched, trying not to tremble, until Nick comes up behind her and sets a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Hiyaaa. Get those drinks?"

"Yeah," Harry says, pushing the glass towards her.

"Thanks, Hazza. Let's sit, shall we?"

Harry nods, swallowing hard, and Nick tugs her into the crowd, grinning white and wide.

\---

The next night Nick takes her for dinner at Sadie's. Harry walks in and immediately says, almost involuntarily, "Ooh, a _baby_."

"Not just any baby," Nick says, taking Harry's coat and slinging it over a hook along with her own. "My godson."

Harry grins. She's seen him in photos, but never in person. "Arlo?"

"That's right." Nick plucks him out of Mairead's arms, bouncing him up and down. "This munchkin is your biggest fan, Ms. Styles. Arlo Lion."

Arlo chortles, reaching for a fistful of Nick's hair.

"Hiii," Harry breathes, reaching out to shake the baby's small plump hand. He peers at her curiously. "Hi, sweetheart."

"That's Harry Styles," Nick says into the baby's ear. "Yes, _that_ Harry Styles. The one from Heat with all the tattoos."

"Shut up," Harry says absently, letting Arlo curl his tiny fingers around her thumb. "God, he's so sweet."

"I've considered stealing him multiple times," Nick says, kissing Arlo's soft cheek. "But then I remember how often he shits his nappy, right, my love? Disgusting. Maybe I'll kidnap him when he's potty-trained."

"Not like you've ever changed one, Nicola," Mairead says, ruffling Nick's hair as she passes by with a very large glass of wine.

"I have!" Nick protests. "Sadie had to help me, but I _did_."

"Mmhm, sure," Mairead laughs.

Nick pouts, bouncing Arlo in her arms.

"He's your godson?" Harry asks.

"One of them." Nick blows a raspberry against Arlo's ear. He giggles, fist batting against Nick's face. "Who needs a wife and children when you've got godkids, right? All the cuteness, none of the sleep deprivation and stinky nappies."

Harry watches Nick's face for a minute, all fond and distracted as Arlo tries to mash his fist into her mouth. In her head, she never thinks about Nick getting married. Having a family, all that. Maybe that's stupid of her.

"Hold him while I grab my drink, Haz?" Nick asks, and a second later Harry has a squirmy baby in her arms, small and warm and surprisingly heavy.

"Hello, love," Harry murmurs. Arlo blinks at her silently. "You alright? You're very cute."

Arlo purses his lips like a fish, and Harry laughs softly, runs her thumb over his mouth.

She looks up, watches Nick in the kitchen, pouring tonic into a glass and laughing at something Collette's saying.

This is Nick's life, innit? She's got a cosy flat and a group of friends and _godchildren_. Babies and dogs and dinner parties and - and business meetings. She stays in one place, most of the time. She's put down roots.

Harry used to think she'd never want something like this. She's still not sure if she does.

"You know, kiddo," she whispers into Arlo's tiny soft shell of an ear. "You're quite lucky to have your godmum. She's pretty special."

Arlo gurgles, and Harry shifts his weight on her arm, looks back at Nick. Nick catches her eye, grins.

"Vodka tonic, Haz?" she calls.

"No," Harry says, feeling strangely virtuous with a baby in her arms. "Just water, please."

Nick raises her eyebrows, takes a gulp of her drink. "Alright, Ms. Healthy."

\---

Nick dozes off on her shoulder during the cab ride back, and Harry holds her hand in both of hers, traces her fingers over the bumps of Nick's knuckles. There's something sat wrong in the pit of her stomach, something that won't stop quivering. She tries to tell herself it's just jetlag, even though she got in four days ago.

She nudges Nick awake when they pull up in front of Nick's flat, and Nick sleepily fumbles for her card. There's no one waiting outside, but Harry peers restlessly back at the street anyway as Nick unlocks the door.

They eat leftover curry Nick promises has only been in her fridge for two days, neither of them speaking much. Nick's tired, and Harry just - can't think of a thing to say.

"Arlo's cute, right?" Nick says, scrolling through her phone. She lifts it to show Harry a photo, Arlo giggling in a onesie with a lion's mane.

"He's adorable."

Nick looks back at her phone. Harry watches her, the fond curve of her smile.

"You want kids, don't you?" she asks. It comes out weird and sudden.

Nick looks up at her, blinking. "Eventually, yeah."

Harry nods uncomfortably. She forks a bite of chicken into her mouth.

"Not for a while, though," Nick says, sounding unsure. "But, I mean. Don't you?"

Harry does a vague sort of shrug-nod-thing. Sometimes she does. And sometimes she really thinks she'll be fine surviving off nieces and nephews and godkids. It's the whole raising-them part that scares the fucking shit out of her.

"You love kids," Nick says, giving her a strange look.

"Hanging out with them." Harry feels sour and she doesn't know why. "But actually, like. Having them. It's different, isn't it? When you've got to do, like, everything. Change your whole life."

Nick blinks, and looks down at her plate. "Suppose so."

They're both quiet for a minute. Harry's knee is jiggling helplessly and she has to press her palm down against it, take a deep breath. It's just - it's weird. There's something about being in Nick's flat that makes her feel eighteen again. Makes her feel like Nick knows all there is to know.

But Nick doesn't. She bloody _doesn't_. She doesn't even know Harry the same way anymore. Harry bites her lip so hard she tastes iron, and Nick looks at her nervously, back down again.

"You want to go to bed?"

Harry nods, throat tight, and follows Nick out of the kitchen.

\---

They brush teeth side-by-side, not looking at each other in the mirror, Harry morosely chewing on a shiny new toothbrush from the pack Nick keeps for guests. She already checked for her own, in the drawer where she used to keep her things. Nick's cleared it all out.

Fair enough, Harry supposes.

Nick flicks the light out and rolls over to kiss her, and Harry kisses back. They don't pick up steam, though, and after a while Harry pulls away, moves their mouths apart.

"You want," Nick murmurs, hand sliding down Harry's stomach into her knickers.

"No," Harry says, weirdly fast. She blushes hot in the darkness. "S'alright, I'm tired."

Nick breathes close to her mouth for a minute, hand still resting against her cunt. Harry can smell a hint of curry under the bite of spearmint and she tries not to wrinkle her nose.

"You alright?" Nick says, quietly, drawing her hand out of Harry's pants when Harry rolls away. "Never turned down an orgasm before."

Harry chokes a feeble laugh. She's not quite alright, but she doesn't want to talk about it. "I'm just tired."

"Me too," Nick says hollowly. "Long fucking week at work."

Harry hums, not wanting to open up another conversation. She turns her face away, breathes slow until Nick gets the hint and curls away from her, tugging the duvet up to her neck.

"Good night," she says, sounding lost.

"Night," Harry mumbles, and they both fall silent.

\---

She jerks awake to moonlight slotting through Nick's blackout curtains and both Nick and Pig snoring on the other side of the bed. The clock reads half-three in the morning.

Harry sits up and looks over at the other side of the bed. Nick's curled around a pillow, mouth open. Pig has her wet nose pressed to the small of Nick's back, snuffling. Harry never quite got how Nick could tolerate sleeping with a dog in her bed.

Nick used to make an effort, back when they were together more nights than not. She'd shut the bedroom door in Pig's face, ignore it when Pig scratched and whined, just cos Harry confessed she didn't love the way Pig drooled all over them as they slept.

Harry watches the pair of them, feeling detached in this familiar way she wishes wasn't familiar at all. Nick mumbles in her sleep, rolls onto her back, and Pig nuzzles into her side.

For some reason Harry needs to get out. She climbs out of bed as quietly as she can, grabs the glass at Nick's bedside and pads to the kitchen, shaking off the scent of dog breath and old cigarettes lingering in her nostrils. The flat is cool outside the cloying warmth of Nick's bedroom, and she shivers as she yanks the freezer open, drops an ice cube into her glass and fills it at the sink.

She takes a sip, and then presses the glass to the pulsepoint in her neck, wanders over to look at the photos covering Nick's refrigerator. Nick and Rita. Nick and her mum, grinning at a posh event. Nick and Aimee and Ian, piled together on a sofa with Pig and a dog Harry doesn't know, giggling.

There's a photo of her, an old one. Nick has an arm around her shoulders and Harry's watching her instead of the camera, her eyes sparkling. She looks in love. Nick's smiling at whoever's taking the photo, a knowing kind of smile, lips bright red and teeth wide and white.

Harry looks at it for a while, standing there in bare feet sipping her water.

She nudges the photo aside, and the one underneath it makes her catch her breath.

It's Nick, looking younger, face softer around the edges. Five or six years ago, maybe. Rudy's in her lap, just a toddler then, his chubby arms slung round Nick's neck. Nick's laughing so hard her eyes are shut. The magnet holding the photo up says, in swoopy cursive - _Fairy Godmother_.

Harry swallows, and turns away from the fridge, something settling like ice in the pit of her stomach.

She stands there for a second, completely still, and then she sets her glass in the sink and goes.

Nick doesn't wake, as Harry fumbles silently for her clothes, her bag. She snores slow and steady, unaware, even when Harry trips over a discarded Louboutin and nearly bashes her face into the wall.

She creeps out the front door and flips the lock behind her, tugging her jacket around her and shuddering against the cold February air. There's some part of her that has no bloody clue what she's up to, but the bigger part, the louder part, is telling her to leave.

By some miracle, there's a cab idling on the corner, and Harry knocks on the window.

"Are you open?" she asks dumbly, tongue feeling thick in her mouth.

The man looks over at her, no trace of recognition on his face. Thank god.

"Yeah," he says in a thick accent. "Where you going?"

"Uhh," Harry says shakily. She'll stay at Niall's. Or Ben's, she's still got a spare key to Ben's, and he's in Ibiza with Meri. "Um. Hackney."

"Got an address?"

"Yeah, just - just a second." She fumbles for her phone, finds it and reads it off. The cab pulls away from the curb with a loud rev of the engine, and Harry sinks against the backseat, lets out a steadying breath.

There was this time, years ago. They'd been in bed all morning, laying around talking and making each other come. They'd slowed down to a snog at that point, lazy and slow, and Nick pulled away, hand still buried in Harry's hair. Her mouth was swollen and raw from eating Harry's cunt.

"Do you want to hear something a bit weird," she said.

Harry laughed, open-mouthed, and nodded. She wanted to hear anything Nick said, back then.

"I've got this thing-" Nick started.

"Ooh, like a sex thing?"

"No, pervert. Is that all you think about?" Nick grinned like a shark and kissed her, pulling away with a smack of lips. "No, it's- it's, like."

She sighed, rolled onto her side. "When we're, like, sleeping together. Like- in the same bed, I mean."

Harry watched her. She reached out to run her thumb over the curve of Nick's bottom lip.

Nick huffed a sigh, like she was exasperated with herself. "If you've- if you've got to leave, like. Before me in the morning. Just wake me up and let me know, alright? Or at least leave a note. Just don't leave without telling me."

Harry frowned. "Alright."

"It's just a thing." Nick sighed again. "Just me being an idiot. But it's, it's important. To me. I dunno."

She looked embarrassed, and Harry ran her hand through her hair, skimming her thumb over the warmth of Nick's flushed cheek.

"I know it's silly."

"It's not," Harry said, voice going a bit thick. She'd do that if Nick asked. She'd do anything.

Nick just made a face and leaned down to kiss her, and they never spoke of it again.

Harry never forgot it though. She remembers it now, tipping her forehead against the cool glass of the taxi window, and a strange clench of pain works through her. Nick will wake up tomorrow, and know that Harry meant it. Meant to leave her alone, to do what she promised she wouldn't.

God, how awful. Harry's an awful person. She sniffs hard.

It's just - Nick'll be such a good mum. She'll be so bloody good, someday. With her big heart and her friends and the way she cares for people. She cared for Harry, once.

When Harry's with her, she can see that for herself too. A warm tight-knit life, everything sewed up and tied down.

She can't. She can't, she can't. Harry scrubs her wrist over her leaking eyes. She can fit herself into Nick's life for a while, but she can't stay there. She'll go mad.

It was all she needed once, but she's grown, and it doesn't fit anymore.

Harry rubs her eyes again and pulls out her phone.

By the time she's pulling up in front of Ben's, she has a flight booked. Heathrow to LAX, 11 AM.

It'll be better in the end. For both of them. Hurts now, but then it always does, doesn't it?

"Miss," the cab driver says, glancing back at her. "Is this the right place?"

Harry peers out the window, eyes blurry.

"Yeah," she says, voice coming out hoarse. She digs for her wallet. "Thank you."

Ben's flat is quiet and empty, and Harry kicks her shoes off, tosses her bag down and curls up on the squashy sofa, pulls a blanket over herself. She stares blankly into darkness for a long time, eyes wanting to close, her head resisting.

Nick's gonna wake up alone tomorrow, and so will Harry.

Maybe that's right. Harry's not sure. All she knows is that she couldn't bloody stay. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**2016**

"You excited, then, babes?"

Harry's watching herself in the mirror so intently she doesn't hear Lou at first. Lou tugs a bit at her hair, until Harry catches eyes with her.

"Sorry," Harry says sheepishly. "Yeah. Excited."

"First solo Live Lounge." Lou arches an eyebrow, reaching for the blowdryer. "Usually you'd be stress-shitting by now, this close to a performance..."

"How d'you know I'm not? Right this minute?"

Lou wrinkles her nose. "You're disgusting."

Harry grins, hums in her throat when Lou turns the blowdryer on, warm air on her scalp. She shuts her eyes.

When she opens them again she looks - like her old self. She hasn't gotten a blowout since she hacked off all her hair at the end of last year, the day after they decided to go on hiatus. She did half of their last tour and a bunch of promo with the best pixie cut Lou had been able to salvage out of it. It was nice, in a way. Especially in the summer. But something about it felt like a poor substitute for - whatever else she wanted to say.

It’s grown out now, starting to curl softly against her chin. Harry stares at herself, swallows hard.

“Makeup’s waiting for you, babe,” Lou says absently, patting her shoulder.

“Thanks, Lou.”

“Course. You look lovely.” Lou leans over to kiss her temple. “You’re gonna be brilliant. You nervous?”

“Bit.”

Lou pulls a face at her in the mirror, and Harry pulls one back.

“Go on.”

Harry eases out of the chair, shaking her hair out.

Halfway to makeup, she hears a familiar laugh, warm and Northern, and she braces herself as she rounds the corner. Of course she's there, right, it's her radio station.

Nick's sprawled out in a dressing room chair, laughing with the makeup girl. She looks up, smile falling off her face, and Harry feels a weird catch in her throat, halfway between a laugh and a sob. They haven't spoken in months.

"Hiya, popstar," Nick says, face steady, cool.

"Hi," Harry breathes. "Umm."

"Sit down, darling," the makeup artist says, beckoning her into the empty chair next to Nick's. Nick unfolds her legs and stands up, running a hand through her hair.

"I'll leave you to it," she says, voice giving nothing away. "You look nice, Haz."

Harry's still stammering a thank-you as the door swings shut.

"You two're mates, yeah?" the makeup girl says, reaching for a powder brush.

"Yeah," Harry says reflexively. Are they? Nick texted Harry on her birthday. Harry liked her photo on Instagram the other week. They took a photo together at a fashion show in the fall. Harry's not sure if that's friendship, cos what she and Nick had was always bigger than that.

"She's hilarious." Harry closes her eyes as the girl leans over her to sweep blush onto her cheeks. "Are we doing a dark lip today, or what do you fancy?"

\---

“Uh, thank you,” Harry says, as the applause dies down, so loud it makes her head spin. She's heard louder in stadiums, but something about hearing people cheer for her, _just_ her, in Maida bloody Vale, is doing her head in. “I've got- I've got one song left to sing for you. And I just wanted to say thanks, everyone, for coming out to see me. Means a lot to me. They told me not to give a speech cos I talk quite slow, but. Radio One’s always been one of my favorite places to be, and it’s where One Direction premiered our first single, and it’s where I’ll play the first single off my album next month. I’m very happy I could do this, and I love the Live Lounge, and - I’ll wrap this up now and play my last song. Thank you.”

There’s a murmur of laughter. Harry catches eyes with Nick, and Nick’s mouth tugs up at the corner, softly. Harry has to swallow before she can speak again.

“This next song is by one of my favorite bands, umm. I grew up listening to them, and this is one of my very favorite songs, and I just- I hope I do it justice. Thank you for coming out."

She looks over at Sandy and nods. She can't help but sneak another look at Nick, as the chords start, but Nick's not looking at her. Harry swallows, shuts her eyes and opens her mouth to sing.

Her voice only shakes a little.

\---

The afterparty's at Shoreditch. Harry wriggles into a shorter tighter dress, takes a cab over with Lou and Niall and Sam and Caroline, trying to smile when they shower her with compliments. She _is_ happy. She is. It's just - there was this moment, near the end of _Silver Springs_ , when she looked up and Nick was watching her, wide-eyed. She looked so close to tears it made Harry's breath hitch, her next words coming out thick and pained.

She's not over it at all. How stupid, that Harry can feel completely done, completely fine, and then see Nick's mouth and dark eyes for three bloody seconds and feel her mind go all dizzy with possibilities again. She wonders if she'll ever stop wanting Nick, and the question makes her tired.

"Haz?" Lou says, patting her knee. "You alright, babe?"

"Just- adrenaline," Harry says blankly. Niall's twisted around in the front seat of the cab, looking at her worriedly. Harry sends her a flat sort of smile.

She's smiling for the paps when she sees another car pull up, and Nick unfolds herself from the backseat, Pixie and George and Fiona right behind. Nick looks up, catches Harry's eye.

Harry nods, just a little, and Nick looks away, mouth curving into a wide white grin as a camera flashes in her face.

"C'mon, mate," Niall says, tugging at her arm. "Let's get you a drink."

She has a drink, and then another. Chats up a few people, and moves onto a few more, until she's standing in a circle of five people and Nick is one of them. Nick's listening politely as Ben rattles on about footy, and Harry nearly starts when Nick catches her eye.

She smiles. Nick smiles back, sips her clear drink, and then she mouths something vague and jerks her head to the side.

Harry's heart flutters. She nods, follows Nick away. She thinks they're just going for a drink, but Nick only pauses to set her glass down and keeps walking. Harry takes one look back, but the only person watching her is Niall. Niall raises an eyebrow, and Harry shrugs, turns her back.

She follows Nick up a flight of stairs. Nick's chattering all the while, something innocuous about Pig and a giant stick and a failed attempt at fetch. It's the exact kind of nervous fidgety story Nick tells when she doesn't know what to say.

Finally they reach where they're going. A toilet. Nick pauses with her hand on the door, looks back at her, face suddenly serious. She's asking something with her eyes.

Harry nods again, and Nick shoves the door open.

The toilet's dark but Nick doesn't reach for the light. Harry can hear her breathing.

"Nick-"

"Don't," Nick says. "Let's just - let's just not talk. For once."

Harry's eyes fill and she blinks them away, reaches for Nick when Nick reaches for her, shoving a hand in her hair and laying Harry out flat against the cool wall.

They kiss slow at first, like they've forgotten how, and then Nick opens her mouth and Harry wants- wants all of it, wants to lick at her teeth, taste all of her again. She tries her best, moaning against Nick's mouth when Nick fumbles a hand up her skirt.

"Nick, _fuck-_ "

"Shut up," Nick chokes against her mouth. There's something shaking in her voice. "Just- shut up."

Harry can't shut up when Nick rubs at her clit, hard enough to make her eyes water. It doesn't even feel _good_ , except that's exactly why it does. Heat and pressure, blunt and unforgiving, and Harry can't stop fucking her hips up against Nick's fingers, whining against her mouth.

It doesn't even feel like coming til it's over, til she's clutching fingernails deep enough into Nick's back to leave marks and near-crying into her neck. Nick's kneading all of her with her palm, kissing her shoulder with teeth.

She goes very still when Harry sinks to her knees, trembling, fumbling for the zip of Nick's skirt, shoving it up. It's been a long time since she did this. The truth is, it's easier not to. Harry can get off just fine with boys.

But there's a difference, between getting off just fine, and getting off with Nick. And there's a difference between making a boy come and making Nick come. Harry pins Nick to the wall with both hands and licks inside, relishing the sound Nick makes when Harry fucks her tongue against her clit. It's been so long.

Nick pushes her head away when Harry won't stop after she's come.

"Haz," she says weakly. "Jesus."

Harry's breathing hard, and her eyes are wet, but it's dim enough in the toilet that Nick won't notice. She presses one last kiss to Nick's skinny thigh, takes one last inhale of her scent. She's not stupid enough to think that she'll get this again, so she tries to savor it.

She staggers to her feet, and Nick zips up her skirt, jaw clenched.

“I’ve been, like- I’ve been thinking about you,” Harry starts, shakily.

“Shut up,” Nick says, fumbling for her phone. “Not doing that right now.”

“Nick-”

“Shut _up,_ Harry.” Nick’s voice is hoarse. She goes very still for a moment, very quiet, and then she mumbles- “Still can’t bloody believe you left without saying anything.”

Harry’s heart wrenches hard in her chest and she reaches for Nick. “Grim-”

“Don’t _fucking_ touch me,” Nick snaps, before she shoulders her way past Harry and out of the stall.

Harry follows blindly. “Nick, wait-”

Nick stops, one hand on the door handle.

“Don’t,” she says, face twisting like she’s trying to smile. Harry hates that face. “Just don’t, Haz. It’s alright. Did what you had to, didn’t you?”

Harry’s not sure anymore. She wants Nick. She wants to hold her, and she wants - god, she wants to be in Nick’s bed, duvet over her head, everything smelling of lavender and fag smoke. Nick has this fawn-brown birthmark on her side, right where she always carries a bit of softness no matter how much weight she loses, and Harry wants to press her mouth to it. She can picture it all so clearly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Nick says bravely. She leans in, and gives Harry a single kiss on the mouth, something quietly final in it. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Nick,” Harry says, urgent, but she’s struck dumb when Nick looks at her expectantly, still gripping the doorknob. “I- I never meant to- to-”

Nick watches her, dark-eyed, but Harry can’t find the words. Never meant to hurt her? That’s technically true, but Harry knew she _would_. That’s the problem, with knowing someone right down to their core. She doesn’t get to pretend she didn’t know what it’d do to Nick, to leave her alone in bed that morning. She doesn’t get to play dumb.

“It’s alright,” Nick repeats. Her eyes flick over Harry’s face, and she reaches out to push a stray curl behind Harry’s ear, hand careful and cool.

“What if we were different?” Harry says, breath catching with how much she wants it. “If I didn’t do this job. What if we weren’t who we are?”

Nick swallows. “Wouldn’t change anything.”

“How can you- yes it would.” Harry knows she sounds crazed, but she can’t help it. “Yes it would.”

“See, the problem with us,” Nick says softly. “Is that we don’t love each other the same way.”

“That’s not true,” Harry says, voice cracking.

“Yeah, it is.”

“I- Nick, I-”

Nick shakes her head, and twists the doorknob.

“Good luck with the album, Harriet,” she says quietly, before she disappears through the door.

Harry stands there for a long second, heart thumping in her chest. For a moment her mind lurches sideways and she thinks about going outside, and getting to a mic, and saying all of it. Or taking out her phone and tweeting it. One tweet and it’s over, and everyone knows. Harry thinks she’d survive. She thinks she could weather it.

But that wouldn’t make Nick love her again. Harry chokes in a breath, fumbles for a towel to wipe her smeared lipstick, her damp eyes. Doesn’t matter what she says, or does. Nick’s not hers.

She could’ve been, once. Except Harry didn’t want it then. Isn’t it cruel, when the universe plays a trick on you like that.

She pushes her way out of the toilet, glances down the hall where the party’s still going strong. She can hear laughter, feel the thump of bass under her feet. Maybe Nick’s back there, cos Nick never missed a party just cos of a little emotional devastation. _No better cure for heartbreak_ , Nick said once, before they’d ever kissed, when Harry had split up with some bloke who kept bragging about shagging her to his friends. _Than a few drinks and some good music._

Harry turns the other way, fumbling to check for her wallet and her phone, tucked in the back pocket of her jeans. She can’t go in there. Can’t make herself into the person they want to see, not right at the minute.

She makes it into the backseat of a black car, shuffles over to the window seat and practically smushes her face to the glass.

London passes by, rain-streaked and blurry. Harry remembers being here at first, the way it felt so big. The way everything felt like it wasn’t for her, until she met Nick, and London became very cozy and small. As small as Nick’s living room, or the sticky heat of a DJ booth, leaning over the decks and watching Nick’s hands move, steady and sure. Knowing that Nick would get her home safe.

Christ, what has she done. Harry draws in a shaking breath and pulls out her phone.

There’s this mean little part of her that knows, deep down, that she could send a text to Nick right now and be in Nick’s bed by midnight. She knows the exact right things to say to make that happen, but the trouble is those things aren’t true. Maybe she’s done enough damage. Maybe she loves Nick enough to not keep pulling her back, stomping all over Nick’s heart just cos she doesn’t feel like being alone tonight.

Harry’s so fucking sick of hurting people just by being herself. She just- she just wishes it were easier to be good.

She swallows hard, opens up Twitter. She should tweet something nice and normal, say thank-you to Radio One for having her in the Live Lounge, or thank-you to everyone who came out to watch her, blah blah bloody blah. Harry knows what she should tweet.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard and she nearly wants to scream, just from the uselessness of it all. Nick somewhere, loving her, and Harry here, loving her back, and nothing to do about it. She used to think nothing was bigger or more important than that, and then she stepped on a stage and heard people screaming her name and nothing's felt as good since.

_Thanks for letting me sing tonight. Thank you for listening. Xxx HS._ she taps out, starting to cry now, hot tears that drip down her cheeks and start her nose leaking. Fuck. Fuck. Isn't it stupid, that she can be here, weeping in the back of a cab, and everyone thinks she's having the best night of her life. Nick used to help with that, the disconnect between what people thought and what she knew about herself. Nick used to make it feel real.

She hits Send, scrubbing at her eyes again, and then she opens up another tweet. Puts quotes around it, cos it's all easier that way.

_"I'll follow you down til the sound of my voice will haunt you_

_You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you"_

She posts it and shoves her phone in her pocket, draws in the kind of shuddering breath that feels too big for her chest.

It's the strangest smallest comfort, that Nick still loves her. That's there still this thread there, between them, even if they've both done their best job ripping it to shreds.

_We don't love each other the same way_ , Nick said, with that exhausted look on her face.

Maybe they will someday. Harry hopes so.


End file.
